


Go On and Break Me

by OomnyDevotchka



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Agravaine doesn't exist, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fix-It, Imprisonment, M/M, Magic Reveal, Morgause doesn't die in 4x01, Past Arthur/Gwen - Freeform, Season 4 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OomnyDevotchka/pseuds/OomnyDevotchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it becomes obvious that the Morgana who has been attacking Camelot is a magical fake, Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin must adjust to having the real Morgana, who has been imprisoned for over a year, back in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go On and Break Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for a few very important people: [Once_Shaken](http://once_shaken.livejournal.com/), who made a fabulous cheerleader after a mix up with spam folders was sorted out; [Thursday Next](http://xthursdaynextx.livejournal.com/), who did what is perhaps the quickest beta I have ever seen; and, of course, the wonderful [Chosenfire28](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/), who created the gorgeous art (the rest of which can be found [here](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/285958.html)), and who I am very excited to be working with on another story as we speak.
> 
> This story was based on [this](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/34275.html?thread=36167139#t36167139) Kink Me Merlin prompt, and, though there's more Arthur/Merlin in it than the requester probably wanted, I hope everyone enjoys it!

         

           It’s the heat of battle, and Merlin is hanging back, hiding behind a rather frightened horse.

            It’s true that he’s more useful this way than any other, because he can use his magic without anyone noticing, shift the battle in favour of Arthur’s knights, just a bit.

            Still, a part of him (and that part is quite large, to be honest) wishes that he could be out there in the thick of things, helping openly.

            It’s not as though Arthur and his knights really _need_ much help – this particular fight is only against a small group of bandits – but a small, shameful part of Merlin will always be searching for ways to prove himself to Arthur. He will always be looking for the next way to exceed Arthur’s expectations, to make Arthur realise that he’s not just an idiotic manservant.

            Until the day magic is allowed in Camelot again, though, that will never happen.

            There had been a time, back in the first few years that Merlin had spent in Camelot, that he had held out hope for the future, hope that Arthur wouldn’t inherit his father’s prejudices and would repeal the ban on magic. After Morgana had gone astray, though, that had stopped seeming likely.

            Not for the first time in the last few years, Merlin finds himself wondering how a person could change as much as Morgana had in so short a time. She had gone from being his friend, Gwen’s confidante, and Arthur’s slightly antagonistic sister figure, to a creature driven by hate, determined to destroy everything she had once held dear.

            Merlin supposes fear can do that to a person.

            Merlin’s snapped out of his contemplation by a yell from the battlefield. When he peeks out around the horse, he almost can’t believe what he’s seeing.

            Standing in the middle of the knights, as though Merlin had summoned them with his thoughts, are Morgause and Morgana, identical cruel smiles on their faces.

            It’s a testament to the bravery and versatility of the knights that they switch to attacking the two women without a noticeable pause, despite their abrupt appearance.

            They don’t have a chance with sheer force, though, and Morgause throws them backwards with a sweep of her arm before they have a chance to get within ten feet.

            Merlin finds himself, once again, in a dilemma. He thinks that nobody should have to choose between their own life and the lives of others as often as he does. As quietly as he can, he creeps out from behind the horse, positioning himself so that he has a clear shot at Morgause.  

            It seems as though he’s about to get a few minutes to consider his inevitable doom, though, because Morgause is opening her mouth, clearly about to start on one of her endless monologues.

            “Arthur Pendragon,” she begins, while Morgana looks menacing beside her. “Prepare to -”

            Four words in, and Merlin is already sick of listening to her. He mutters a spell under his breath and it hits Morgause clear in the chest, knocking her back a few feet before she regains her balance. Shocked, she looks to where Merlin is still crouching, out of the view of the knights. “Emrys,” she breathes, her eyes widening. Next to her, Morgana turns to look at Merlin as well, her brows furrowed as she puts two and two together, realises all the ways in which Merlin has betrayed her over the years.

            Forget what Arthur’s going to do to him when he finds out he has magic. Merlin’s reasonably sure that Morgana’s not going to let him off this battlefield alive.

            While the two women have been distracted by Merlin, though, the knights have been regrouping. Understanding that they won’t be able to get in close enough to Morgana and Morgause to use their swords, several of them have pulled out their bows. As Morgause takes a step towards Merlin, clearly about to drag him out from behind the horse and expose him to everyone, before probably killing him mercilessly, Merlin raises his hand, prepared to go down fighting.

            Before he can unleash any more spells, Morgause’s entire body jerks forward and a small patch of blood begins to bloom from her chest. She looks down at herself, eyes wide and all of the colour drained out of her face. Merlin casts his eyes over the knights and sees Gwaine, holding up his empty bow, having shot the arrow that had drilled through Morgause’s chainmail.

            One of Morgause’s hands goes up behind her own back, scrabbling uselessly for the arrow, while the other presses to her chest, as though she can stem the flow of blood. She stumbles forward and then drops to her knees, a horrible gurgling noise coming out of her mouth.

            Morgause is the only one that’s moving, and Merlin’s wondering why none of the knights are taking the opportunity to destroy Morgana as well, or why Morgana, for that matter, isn’t reacting to the sight of her dying sister.

            When Merlin looks up at Morgana, though, he gets his answer. Her face has gone completely blank, and Merlin might think that she had been injured as well, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s flickering.

            Her entire body is rapidly blinking in and out of existence, and, even when she’s visible, Merlin can see the landscape behind her through her body. It’s like nothing Merlin has ever seen, natural or magical, and he can now understand why Arthur and the knights are transfixed.

            It’s been less than a minute since Morgause was shot, though it seems like much longer to Merlin. Based on the way she’s still gurgling, and the fact that she was hit almost directly in the heart, she doesn’t have long left to live.

            It’s only a few seconds after Merlin thinks this that Morgause dies, finally falling all the way to the ground, her pale hair spread out around her.

            Merlin can tell when the exact second of her death is, because that’s when Morgana completely disappears.

***

            Arthur’s been unsure of a lot of things in his short kingship – how to deal with his father’s advisors, how to balance his own personal grief with his new responsibilities, whether or not to continue his father’s harsh policies on magic when he’s not sure he believes in them – but he’s never been so unsure as he is the moment his evil half-sister disappears in front of his eyes.

            Ignoring Morgause’s dead body – she deserved everything she got and more, the bitch – Arthur runs to the spot where Morgana had been standing just a moment ago. There’s no indication of any magic, no indication of _how_ , exactly, Morgana disappeared, but then, Arthur’s not exactly familiar with the way magic works.

            This encounter has just left so many questions in his mind – how did Morgana disappear? Who was it that shot that first bolt of magic at Morgause? Who is Emrys? What should his course of action be now? – that his head is spinning. He can’t let it show, though, can’t appear anything less than totally in control, even if it’s just in front of Percival, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan and Merlin.

            Speaking of which, where the hell is Merlin, anyway?

            “Merlin?” Arthur shouts, trying to dislodge the kernel of worry deep in his stomach at the fact that Merlin isn’t in his eye line.

            Merlin’s head pops up from behind Elyan’s horse, and Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. Merlin looks just as confused and disturbed as Arthur feels, and he’s reminded, suddenly, that he has allies in this. The others will help him figure out what to do.

            Casting one last look around to satisfy himself that whoever this ‘Emrys’ is, he’s already buggered off, Arthur signals to his knights (and Merlin) to follow him. He wants to find somewhere defensible to set up camp, and then talk through a plan of action with everyone.

            As they start moving, Arthur feels a profound sense of relief wash over him. Sure, he still has to worry about Morgana, (and he’s still not entirely sure how he will handle having to watch her die, no matter how evil she has become) but one of his most persistent enemies is now dead.

            It’s one less thing for him to worry about, at least.

***

            “We have a few objectives we need to take care of,” Arthur says later that night when everyone is gathered around the fire. He casts a look around the circle, serious face half-illuminated by the fire, and Merlin has to stifle a laugh at how hard he’s obviously trying to look kingly.

            He wishes that Arthur would just stop that, stop allowing his father’s shadow and all of his preconceived notions of what a king should be shape his actions. Even when he was just a prince, Arthur was always a better king than Uther, and he was never better than when he was acting entirely out of his own conscience.

            “First of all, we need to find out where Morgana went,” Arthur says. “She’ll be upset that Morgause was killed, and if we find her before she has a chance to make a plan, we might prevent a great deal of damage to Camelot and its people.” He pauses. “Then, we need to figure out who this Emrys is, and what his motives are for helping us.”    

            Merlin tries his hardest not to squirm. He still can’t quite believe that none of the knights have figured out that the bolt of magic originated from exactly where he was hiding, but he’s not complaining. Still, if Arthur and the knights are actively on the lookout for Emrys, it may make it harder for Merlin to practice his magic without arousing suspicion.

            Nobody’s focused on Merlin at the moment, though. The knights’ eyes are all focused directly on Arthur, and Arthur, for his part, is casting his eyes around the circle, not allowing them to linger on any one person for very long.

            Though Merlin is still worried about what this new focus on Emrys will bring for him, he can’t help but swell up with pride, just a little, that he’s allowed to sit within this circle. Sure, he knows that Arthur doesn’t exactly consider him to be as useful in a fight as Leon or Gwaine, but he’s still allowed to sit in on these discussions, and even participate.

            It’s enough for Merlin. Really.

            After a quick rundown of who will take watch at what times, Arthur dismisses the knights, who all (except for Percival and Elyan, who have been assigned the first watch) begin to make their way towards their tents.

            Merlin follows them, getting a goodnight clap on the back from Gwaine and a gentle smile from Leon, and ducks into the tent that he’s sharing with Arthur.

            Yawning a little, he prepares Arthur’s bedroll, then wriggles into his own. His eyes aren’t closed for more than a few moments when the tent flap opens, and Arthur crawls in.

            “Merlin,” he says, and Merlin opens his eyes immediately, always ready to help Arthur whenever he needs it.

            “Yes?” Merlin asks.

            Arthur sighs and flops down onto his bedroll. “Something about this whole thing is…strange,” he says.

            Merlin snorts. “Only one thing?”

            Arthur bats a hand at him lazily, not actually managing to connect. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

            Merlin does. “Morgana?” he guesses.

            “I’ve never seen anything like that,” Arthur says softly. “If she had just disappeared, I would think that she had used magic to get herself out of there, but the way she…faded like that -”

            “And the way the flickering only started when Morgause was hit, and how Morgana completely disappeared when Morgause died?” Merlin prompts.

            “It’s almost as if,” Arthur begins, uncharacteristically hesitant. “As if it weren’t _really_ Morgana, but some kind of projection.”

            Merlin had been thinking the exact same thing. “Maybe Morgause wanted to make it seem like Morgana was with her, even though she wasn’t?”

            Arthur turns to Merlin, his eyes glittering in the light of the dying fire. “But why?” he asks.

            “Maybe there was some kind of plan – Morgana had something else to do?” Merlin suggests. He knows where Arthur is going with this, knows how much he must _want_ it to be true, but he doesn’t want to get Arthur’s hopes up.

            “I’m just wondering how long, exactly, Morgana has been a projection,” Arthur says.

            “I have no idea,” Merlin admits. “I’m no expert in magic,” he tries not to smirk at the statement, but he’s not _technically_ lying. “But I couldn’t tell any difference between Morgana today, and Morgana at any other point.”

            Arthur sighs and nods his head. “We need to approach this as though Morgana is still a threat,” he decides, though he sounds reluctant. “We cannot afford this speculation.” He turns away from Merlin, apparently done with the conversation.

            Merlin waits a few moments before saying, softly, “I hope it wasn’t her as well.”

            Arthur doesn’t respond, and Merlin falls into an uneasy sleep.

***

            Arthur shakes Merlin awake early the next morning for watch, delighting in his resulting grumpiness. “Come on then, lazy,” he says, ducking back to avoid the limbs that Merlin is flailing in his general direction. “Get up!”

            Merlin squints back at him through sleep-heavy blue eyes. “I hate you,” he says, crawling slowly out of his bedroll.

            Arthur’s stomach gives an odd little flip. He makes the executive decision to ignore it in favour of leaping to his feet and pulling on his chain mail.

            When they’re at home, Merlin does all sorts of little things for Arthur, including helping him dress. When they’re travelling, though, Arthur’s gotten into the habit of doing these things for himself. It seems only fair, considering that none of his knights have servants with them. Besides, if Arthur’s being honest with himself, Merlin’s more than a servant anyway. Always has been, really.

            Anyway, it’s just easier for him to give up all the little bits and pieces of decorum that separate him from Merlin in Camelot when they’re on the road.

            By the time Arthur’s gotten dressed and ready, Merlin has finally hauled himself to his feet. He’s got one of his blankets wrapped around his shoulders like he’s some kind of consumptive grandmother or something, and his face is set into a glare.

            Arthur, who’s used to being the one who is rudely awakened, wants to milk this opportunity for all it’s worth. “Come on, Merlin, you can’t keep watch like _that_ ,” he says, reaching out to tug on Merlin’s blanket.

            Merlin steps back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and narrowing his eyes even further. “Why not? Surely I can be warm while sitting around staring into the distance.”

            “What if we actually get attacked?” Arthur asks. “Knowing you, you’ll end up tripping over the damn thing and falling onto someone’s sword.” He tugs at the blanket again, and this time Merlin lets him pull it off.

            “ _Fine_ ,” Merlin says, reaching for his own clothes to change into. “I don’t know who in their right minds would be raiding this bloody early, though.”

            “War waits for no man, Merlin,” Arthur calls, exiting their tent. Merlin follows him out just a few seconds later, still pulling on his tunic and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

            Over near the edge of camp, Gwaine and Leon are sitting back-to-back on a log. Gwaine, who’s facing the direction that Arthur and Merlin are coming from, keeps letting his eyes slip shut and his head droop, only to jerk back into awareness a few seconds later. Judging by Leon’s back, which isn’t as ramrod-straight as it would usually be, he’s just as tired as Gwaine is.

            As they get closer, Gwaine registers their appearance, and lets out a sigh of relief that’s audible even across a distance. Beside him, Leon whips his head around to catch Arthur’s eyes and smile.

            When they draw level, Arthur claps Leon on the shoulder. “Go back to sleep, gentlemen. We ride out in four hours.”

            Gwaine gives a weak cheer as he and Leon get to their feet and stumble back to their tent, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone.

            While Arthur takes his place on the log, Merlin goes over to where they’ve stored their food and gets out two portions of bread and cheese, bringing the food over to Arthur. Arthur takes it gratefully, and the two of them sit in silence for a moment, chewing and inspecting the landscape around them.   

            Naturally, Merlin’s the one to break it, because Merlin still doesn’t seem to understand the concept of stealth and subtlety.

            “Where are we going today, then?” he asks, mouth full of cheese.

            “Really, Merlin, were you born in a barn?” Arthur grumbles. He pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, because he knows that what he’s about to say isn’t going to sound rational to anyone else. “I thought we might…try to discover where Morgause and Morgana have been hiding,” he says carefully.

            Merlin meets his eyes. “You want to check and make sure it was Morgana.” It isn’t a question.

            “Even if it _were_ Morgana, she’ll be weak at the moment,” Arthur argues. “She’ll be reeling from Morgause’s death, and if we strike now, we may be able to get rid of all of our problems at once.”

            Merlin’s doing that thing that he does sometimes where he holds Arthur’s gaze without saying anything. It’s always made it frustratingly impossible for Arthur to keep up any bullshit, and today is no exception. “Fine,” he says. “I want to make sure it was really Morgana. I just have a feeling, you know?”  

            Merlin nods, finally looking away from Arthur. “I know what you mean. It was certainly strange.”

            They lapse into silence, and, after a few moments, Merlin shifts, just a little, so his back is pressed against Arthur’s.

            Arthur is grateful that he’s facing away from Merlin, so he can’t see the smile that spreads over Arthur’s face in response.

***

            When all of the knights are up and packing up camp, Merlin takes advantage of the bustle to slip out into the woods.

            Falling to his knees on the soft earth, he reaches into his pack and pulls out a small lock of blonde hair. Shuddering slightly at the memory of how it had felt to hack it off of a dead woman’s head, he clutches it in his hand and closes his eyes.

            Murmuring the words that he’d read in his spellbook, he concentrates on the picture of Morgause when she was still alive, the haughty and superior look she’d favoured, the deadly way she moved when armed with a sword, the way her magic had felt when it had grazed him, harsh and elemental.

            When he gets back to his feet, letting the lock of hair fall to the ground, he knows that they have to head west to find the place where Morgause had been hiding. It’s not a tug, like he had expected, but rather, it feels like the knowledge has simply implanted itself into his brain – just the way to get there, not the final destination.

            He hears Arthur bellow his name from back in camp, despite the fact that he’s been missing for probably less than two minutes. He heads back towards camp, and tries to figure out how he’s going to persuade Arthur to follow him instead of his own path.

            He’ll think of something, he’s sure of it.

***

            Merlin’s been acting weird all morning.

            Usually, when Arthur takes Merlin along on his trips (which, he might as well own up, is pretty much every time he goes on a trip), Merlin’s more than content to let Arthur or his knights lead the way. Today, though, he keeps making suggestions of which way they should go.

            The knights, who haven’t yet been told what Arthur’s looking for, seem almost as confused as he is. Leon and Elyan keep shooting Arthur loaded little looks, while Gwaine listens to every word Merlin says, without even looking to see how Arthur feels.

            After a while of this, Arthur hangs back to ride beside Percival, who is the only person not currently giving him a stress headache. More likely than not, Merlin’s sudden interest in navigation will end up getting them hopelessly lost, but Arthur’s been looking for an excuse to get out of Camelot for weeks now, so he doesn’t really mind the prospect of rambling around the countryside for a couple more hours.

            Ever since his father’s death, Arthur feels like he’s been constantly _on_ , constantly putting on a brave exterior for his subjects. Here, though, with perhaps the only people in the world who he trusts with his life, he feels inexplicably relaxed, despite his annoyance. It’s an odd disconnect, but better than the one he’s been experiencing, where he was firm and calm on the outside and crumbling on the inside.

            Arthur’s pulled out of his own head by a cry of triumph from Merlin. “Arthur, look!” he says.

            Arthur looks, then turns to Merlin and raises his eyebrows, because he doesn’t see anything particularly noteworthy.

            Merlin scrambles down off of his horse, a huge smile on his idiot face. “See that hut there? I think that might be where Morgause’s hideout was.”

            Arthur’s baffled. “How in the hell would you know that?” he demands.

            Merlin shrugs. “Just a feeling,” he says, and then he has the nerve to smirk at Arthur, the little shit.

            “It’s worth a try,” Gwaine, predictably, puts in.

            Arthur glares at him. “Fine,” he snaps, dismounting his horse and striding towards the hut. It’s a miserable little thing, small and cramped-looking, with a slatted wooden door that will be useless against the elements come winter. It’s not the type of place that Arthur can picture Morgause, with her royal connections, her fine clothes and armour, living in for any amount of time. Despite his reservations, though, he pulls the door open, because now that Merlin has mentioned it, he feels it too, the little tug of instinct or intuition that tells him this place is important.

            One hand on the hilt of his sword, he steps lightly inside, not wanting to disturb anyone that may be inside. With one hand, he signals to his knights to stay where they are. He hears clomping steps continue to follow him, and knows that Merlin must have misunderstood or disregarded his signal.

            Luckily, the knights are better at this than Merlin is, and Arthur hears Merlin bite off a swear word and his steps stop abruptly, as though someone has pulled him back.

            On his first glance around the hut, Arthur doesn’t see anything unusual – there’s a cooking pot, a broom, a scrubbed little table with various herbs spread over it – but then he looks closer, and sees that these herbs look like nothing he’s ever seen, even in Gaius’s seemingly encyclopedic collection.

            Taking another look around to make sure no one’s going to jump out of the shadows at him, Arthur goes back to the door frame to yell to the others that it’s safe to follow him inside.

            The hut’s so small that it’s difficult for all of them (particularly Percival, who actually has to duck to get through the door) to fit inside at once. However, Arthur can see that all of the knights are curious to look around, so he allows it.

            “Merlin,” he calls out, beckoning him over. “Come look at these.”

            Merlin squeezes in between Elyan and Leon to come up next to Arthur. “What?”

            “Do you know what these are?” Arthur gestures to the herbs. “I’m not familiar with them.”

            Merlin leans closer to examine them. “I can’t say I do,” he says slowly. “Are you thinking they’re for magic?”

            “I’m not sure,” Arthur replies. “It seems like a good guess, if you can’t identify them.”

            Merlin’s head snaps up from where he’s still examining the herbs. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, a strange amount of panic in his voice.

            Arthur frowns. “You’re Gaius’s apprentice. You’d know if they were for healing or something.”

            “Oh.” Merlin’s shoulders relax. “Well, I wouldn’t count on it. I’m a rather rubbish apprentice, to be honest.”

            Arthur chuckles. “As rubbish as you are at being a manservant?”

            Merlin shoves him a little bit. He doesn’t move far, both because he’s exponentially stronger than Merlin and because there’s nowhere for him to go, wedged in the corner of the hut as he is.

            “Arthur!” Elyan cries. “Look at this!”

            The urgency in Elyan’s voice has Arthur moving as quickly as he can to get to where Elyan is standing, on the other side of the table. “What is it?” he demands.

            Elyan points to the earth floor, where the threadbare cloth that served as a rug had been disturbed by the knights’ feet. Arthur can see the very edge of an odd wooden panel exposed. He crouches down and pushes a bit more of the cloth out of the way, confirming his suspicion – there’s a trapdoor in the floor, directly underneath one leg of a heavy stone table.

            If the odd herbs on the table had clued Arthur in that something may be wrong here, this trapdoor absolutely clinches it. He nods to his knights, and Percival, Elyan, and Leon immediately go to the other three legs of the table. Even with all four of them, it takes a bit of effort to move it. When the trapdoor is fully revealed, Arthur pulls on the bit of rope that serves as the door’s handle and pulls it open. There’s just a ladder, leading down to complete darkness.

            He looks up at the knights. “One of you find me a light source,” he says.

            “You’re going _down_ there?” Merlin yelps.

            “Where’s your sense of adventure, Merlin?” Arthur asks, as the knights file out of the hut in search of light.

            “My sense of adventure is fine, thank you,” Merlin snaps. “But you have no idea what could be down there.”

            “I’m sure it can’t be anything too horrible,” Arthur says.

            “Do you recall the gigantic dragon that used to live under the castle?” Merlin asks, raising his eyebrows.

            Arthur waves him off. “There’s hardly room for a dragon under here, Merlin,” he says. “There might be a particularly bad-tempered squirrel, though, so I’ll be sure to be careful.”

            Merlin ignores his jab. “I’m coming with you.”

            Arthur thinks about arguing, but, at that moment, Leon comes back inside with a torch, and Arthur’s so eager to explore what’s underneath the trapdoor that he just says, “Fine, come on then,” to Merlin as he takes the torch.   

            Merlin looks surprised, but, as Arthur begins to descend the ladder, he follows without comment.

            When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, Arthur holds the torch up high over his head and scans the area carefully. He’s in a small chamber, carved out of the dirt, which is completely bare, except for what looks like a food bowl and a pile of rags.

            Merlin gasps, and what Arthur had taken to be a pile of rags shifts. Arthur wants to draw out his sword, but Merlin shoves past him before he gets the chance and kneels next to the pile. Slowly, he reaches a hand out, and whispers “Morgana?”

***

            Morgana had stopped keeping track of the days a long time ago.

            At first, she had tried her hardest to get out, to escape. She would fight tooth and nail whenever someone came to bring her food, rushing at them and hoping to catch them off guard.

            Each day that she didn’t manage to escape, each day Morgause kept her locked up, she would scratch another little line in the wall with her fingernail.

            She had thought, then, that when she managed to escape, she would make sure that they were punished for each and every day she was kept away from Camelot.

            Eventually though, she started weakening, the lack of substantial food taking a toll on her body. Eventually, she stopped fighting, even when Morgause came down to cut off another lock of her hair. She was just too weak, too tired.

            There were three hundred and eighty-seven lines on the wall the day that Morgana stopped making them.

            She spent most of the first year daydreaming about her inevitable rescue. The knights of Camelot would come riding in, Arthur at their head, and they would find her and bring her back to the castle, where Uther would hug her and Arthur would slip back into their familiar banter, and Gwen would be bubbly and effusive and so _happy_ to see her, and Merlin -.

            Thinking about Merlin hurt, for the first few months, because she couldn’t forget the feeling of the poison, closing up her throat, making her short of breath, her stomach hurt, her vision blur.

            After she’s had a while to just sit and think, though – it’s not as though she can do anything else – she can see why he did it. After all, the choice was between her and Camelot, and Camelot was more important, no matter how much she hated to admit it. Besides, he had made the right call – after Morgause had gotten them back to her lair, she had revived Morgana, as promised.

            After that, though, it hadn’t exactly gone to Morgause’s plan.

_Morgana sat up, gasping, her hand flying to her throat. As she looked wildly around, she realised she was no longer in Camelot’s main hall._

_“How are you feeling?” a voice asked from beside her._

_Morgana turned, and came face-to-face with Morgause._

_Morgause. The reason why Morgana had almost died. The reason why everyone in Camelot had dropped to the floor around her, while she panicked. The one who had re-animated a deadly force of knights to kill everyone in Camelot._

_Morgana looked straight at her and hissed “When I said I wanted to get rid of Uther, I didn’t mean I wanted you to kill_ everyone _!”_

_Morgause looked confused. “There cannot be a revolution without a few casualties, Morgana.”_

_“They’re my friends.” Morgana said flatly._

_“What of that boy who tried to kill you, hm?” Morgause reached out and gently stroked a hand over Morgana’s hair. “Is he your friend?”_

_Morgana recoiled in disgust from Morgause’s hand “Yes!” she spits. “He is my friend. My friend who was trying to save his kingdom, his_ home _!” She paused, looking at the woman who she had trusted, the woman who she thought had been the answer to her prayers. “I don’t want to overthrow Uther if it means that others will be killed,” she said finally. She was nervous, but her voice didn’t shake._

_Morgause’s eyes grew hard. “I’m certain I will be able to get you to see it my way,” she said, the sweetness in her voice overdone and false. “We’ll talk while you recover, and -”_

_“No,” Morgana interrupted firmly, struggling to leave the bed she was reclining in. “I will not change my mind. I demand that you take me back to Camelot at once.”_

_She wasn’t expecting Morgause to grab her upper arm, dragging her closer with a strength that not many women possessed. “I wouldn’t start giving orders,_ my lady _,” she says, nasty. “There’s no one to serve you, not here.”_

_“Let go of me,” Morgana said, struggling to get out of Morgause’s bruising grip._

_“No, I don’t think I will,” Morgause replied, beginning to walk backwards, dragging Morgana with her. “If you will not agree to help me, then I have other ways to achieve my goals.”_

_Not letting up on her grip, Morgause kicked aside the rug covering the floor and bent down to pull open the trapdoor that it revealed. Morgana, frightened, redoubled her efforts to get away._

_“You will regret the day you defied me, whore,” Morgause hissed in Morgana’s ear, before grabbing a bit of her hair and yanking so hard that a large chunk separated from Morgana’s head. As Morgana cried out in pain, Morgause stepped back and_ shoved _, and Morgana fell through the open trap door, landing hard on the dirt ground below._

_Before she could pull herself to her feet, the trapdoor slammed shut, and she heard the sound of something heavy being moved, directly over her head._

_She was trapped._  

            Morgana likes to think of that time even less than she likes to think of Merlin.

            After a few months of being trapped in the basement, a few months of daydreaming about her rescue, all her hopes had been dashed.

_The trapdoor creaked open, and light, tripping steps began to descend down the ladder. Morgana didn’t even look up._

_“Decided to cooperate with me yet?” Morgause asked._

_“Never,” Morgana spat back. She knew it was true. As long as there was breath left in her body, she would never help Morgause overthrow Camelot._

_“Have it your way, then.” Morgause dropped a bowl of food and a canteen of water unceremoniously on the floor. Ordinarily, she would simply leave after doing this, letting Morgana languish alone for another day._

_That day, though, Morgause made her way over to where Morgana was lying and grabbed a chunk of her hair, using a small pocket knife to cut it off._

_“Why did you do that?” Morgana asked, unable to muster much indignation about it._

_Morgause smirked. “I’ll show you.”_

_She held up one hand, the one with Morgana’s hair in it, and began to chant, forming words in that ancient tongue that Morgana had once ached to learn. Morgana could feel the tension of the room, almost as if the air was humming around her._

_Morgause spit out the last syllable, her eyes flashing gold, and suddenly, there was a person in the basement who hadn’t been there before. Morgana cried out and flung herself backwards, because what she saw shook her to her very core._

_In front of her, dressed in a perfect replica of the outfit she had been wearing the last time she was in Camelot, the outfit that was now threadbare rags around her after a year of imprisonment, was herself._

_“What_ is _that?” she asked, voice shaky._

_“Do you like it?” Morgause asked. “It’s a difficult spell, took me this long to figure out how to do it, but this is a perfect replica of you – one that I can order around as I please.”_

_The replica looked around the underground cell haughtily. Morgana couldn’t see any indication that it was a magical fake – no tell-tale shimmer, or awkwardness of movement. For all intents and purposes, this was another Morgana._

_“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, fighting her own rising dread._

_Instead of answering, Morgause looked to the replica, who answered “We’re going to destroy Camelot, kill Uther and Arthur, and then I will be Queen.”_

            Since then, Morgana hasn’t even been able to hope for rescue, because she’s certain that any Camelot sympathiser who found her would run her through on sight. Occasionally, Morgause would take the opportunity to come down to Morgana’s prison and gloat about their latest exploits, sometimes bringing the clone with her, sometimes not. Even more often, Morgana would slip off the bracelet Morgause had given her and fall into an uneasy sleep, allowing her dreams to bring her news of Camelot.

            Every time she does that, she wakes up screaming and crying. But she does it anyway. It’s not as though there’s anything else for her to do.

            Anyway, she can’t say how long she’s been down here. What she can say, though, is that it’s been a strangely long time since Morgause was in the house. She can tell by the ache in her belly, just that little bit sharper than usual, from the lack of food.

             As she’s thinking this to herself, she hears the door to the hut above open. The sound inspires conflicting feelings in her – she’s pleased that she gets to eat now, of course, but she doesn’t _like_ seeing Morgause.

            It’s not until she hears the muffled sound of talking, followed by the footfalls of several more people, that Morgana realises that it’s not Morgause who has come to the hut.

             In the first few months that she was here, Morgana would have been thrilled to hear the sounds of other people, would have thought she was getting rescued.

            Now, though, it’s been so long since she’d given up on that hope that she doesn’t even think of it. She’s terrified of whoever these people are, and she just hopes that they take Morgause’s things from upstairs and don’t find the trapdoor.

            No such luck, it seems. She hears a male voice, directly over her head, cry out “Arthur, look at this!” and her entire body locks up with fright.

            Arthur. Of all the people that could have found her, it had to be Arthur.

            Thinking quickly, she pulls the blanket that Morgause had provided to keep her warm on the long winter nights over her head and scoots back into a corner, hoping that whoever comes down will overlook her.

            Above her head, whatever it is that Morgause had used to weigh down the trapdoor is being moved, making a deafeningly loud scraping noise. Morgana supposes that Morgause must have moved it with magic, because it had never made that noise before.

           She hears some more vague mumbling over her head, before footsteps begin to come down the ladder. Morgana holds her breath and tries to make her body as small as possible. Maybe, if they don’t find her, they’ll leave the trapdoor open and she can escape, start a new life in some obscure small town where she isn’t known as the Lady Morgana, traitor to Camelot.

           There’s a sudden influx of flickering light and Morgana, against her better judgment, flinches as it reaches her eyes. Even with the protection of the blanket, the light is brighter than anything she’s been exposed to for a very long time.

            She hears a gasp, then, and she knows she’s done for. Someone scurries over and drops to their knees heavily beside her. The person reaches out and pulls the blanket off of Morgana’s head. She doesn’t even try to fight it, can’t even muster up the energy to be afraid of what’s going to happen to her.

            Her eyes meet a familiar pair of blue ones, and Merlin’s voice whispers “Morgana?”

            Everything goes black after that.

***

            Merlin’s close enough to Morgana to see the moment when she faints, and he panics a little. “Arthur, get over here,” he all but orders, voice quavering.

            Arthur’s kneeling by his side in an instant, silent, as he takes in the form of his half-sister.

            Merlin can’t imagine how Arthur is feeling, seeing Morgana like this. Her face, what little he can see of it in the flickering torchlight, is dirty and emaciated, her closed eyes sunken into her skull. Though the rest of her body is covered with a ragged blanket, it’s far too easy for Merlin to imagine how thin it must be. Merlin’s on the verge of tears himself, and he doesn’t have nearly the history, not to mention the blood connection, that Arthur has with her.

One thing’s for certain, though: this is not the woman who has been attacking Camelot for the last year.

            After a moment of staring, Arthur comes back to life. He reaches out and picks Morgana up, cradling her in his arms. When he stands up, it’s clear that he doesn’t have to make any additional effort to carry her weight, and Merlin feels sick.

            He follows dumbly behind Arthur as he carries her limp body up the ladder. When they get to the top, they’re greeted by the disbelieving faces of the four knights.

            “Is that…is that the Lady Morgana?” Leon asks, voice barely louder than a whisper. Aside from Arthur, he’s the person here who’s had the most contact with Morgana, and it shows, in the way his eyes are glued to her ghostly pale face, visible from where her head is lolling back on her neck.

            “It is,” Arthur answers, speaking in that brusque and businesslike tone he takes on whenever he needs to hide his emotions.

            That tone has been a fixture in Arthur’s voice in the weeks since Uther died, and Merlin can’t help but feel an irrational anger towards Morgana for bringing it back, just as it had started to fade away.

            It’s absolutely not her fault, though, and Merlin’s barely had the thought before he’s regretting it, horrified at his own selfishness.

            After all, when he thinks about it, he’s to blame for the state that Morgana is in. He was the one to release her into Morgause’s company, dying, without a single thought to her well-being.

            Merlin thinks that, as long as he lives, he’ll never regret anything more than he regrets poisoning Morgana.

            “But what’s wrong with her?” Elyan asks, staring at Morgana’s body with horror. “We just saw her and she was fine, she didn’t look…like that.”

            Merlin knows that he may give something away if he answers Elyan, if he indicates that he has any knowledge of magic. At this point, though, he’ll do anything to rectify his mistake.

            Burning to death would be almost a relief, in the face of his guilt.

            “We think that the person who disappeared on the battlefield wasn’t the real Morgana,” Merlin says. “That Morgana may have been a magical projection or something, which would explain why she disappeared as soon as Morgause died.”

            “But how can we be sure this isn’t more trickery, then?” Leon asks.

            It’s a valid question, really. Something in Merlin’s bones, though, some innate sense of intuition, maybe, or else his magic, tells him that this is the real Morgana.

            “Look at her hair,” Merlin says, gesturing to the choppy mess that remains of Morgana’s once-beautiful locks. “From what little Gaius has told me about magic, I know that it’s important for the sorcerer to have something that connects to a person, in order to do magic that affects them.”

            It’s a bald-faced lie, of course. Gaius has never told Merlin anything of the sort, preferring to keep entirely silent on the subject of magic. Merlin’s book, though, had been clear on this subject, had informed him that, if he wanted to perform magic that centered on a specific person, it would be best for him to use some piece of them, some hair, a fingernail, a bit of skin, for the spell to be most effective.

            Luckily, no one seems to question him, apparently taking it for granted that Gaius would occasionally talk about magic, even if he wasn’t allowed to perform it anymore.

            “Isn’t it equally as likely that this is a distraction tactic, though?” Percival asks. The other knights, save Gwaine, look like they are ready to agree, like they are reluctant to welcome Morgana back to Camelot. Gwaine, for his part, catches Merlin’s eyes, looking knowingly at him. Not for the first time, Merlin is grateful to have such a close ally in Gwaine, even if he’s a little too intuitive for comfort.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Arthur says, his voice imperative. “We are taking the Lady Morgana back to Camelot, and she will be treated in a manner that befits her rank. Is that clear?”

            The knights all nod, though Leon still looks worried and Percival mutinous. Silently, they all make their way back to their horses, mounting up to prepare for the long journey back to Camelot.

            Merlin doesn’t mount his horse quite yet, choosing instead to follow Arthur over to his stallion, Hengroen. Without a word, Arthur passes Morgana over to Merlin and mounts up, settling back into the saddle like he was born to ride. Merlin, for his part, passes Morgana up to Arthur without the slightest bit of difficulty, wanting to get her unnaturally light body out of his arms as soon as possible. As Arthur settles Morgana on the saddle in front of him, sliding his arms around her waist to keep her from falling, her eyelashes flutter and she mutters a little to herself, as though she’s going to wake up.

            Merlin freezes, halfway back to his own horse, and watches her. Behind her, Arthur is doing the same, holding her as if she’s made of glass, and looking as though he’s not even breathing, lest he disturb her.

            After a few moments, Morgana settles down, still unconscious, and Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. “Onward,” he orders, and his companions all kick their mounts up into a trot, pointing their noses in the direction of Camelot.

***

            Gwen is spending her day in pretty much the same manner that she has spent all her days since the age of ten: cleaning and doing laundry.

            Since Morgana…left, and caused Gwen to lose her position as a personal lady’s maid, she’s gone back to doing the more general work around the castle that she’d done when she was younger, focusing mainly on the guest chambers and the main meeting areas.

            It’s a lot better now than it was when she was younger, largely because most of the other servants are still under the impression that she’s going to marry Arthur.

            She smiles to herself as she thinks of the awkward, ill-advised courtship that they’d had. It was a bad idea for both of them, Arthur only reacting against Uther’s attempts to introduce him to various rich young ladies, and Gwen only responding to his advances because she hadn’t been able to admit, even to herself, who she really loved.

            She puts her mind away from the topic. That part of her life is dead and gone, and she will just have to live with the fact that she’d never gotten up the courage to tell Morgana how she felt while she still had the chance.

            “Lady Guinevere!” A young stable boy squeaks as he skids into the room. “The king has returned, and he wishes to see you!”

            Gwen sets down her basket of laundry and ignores the giggles and sly looks of the other maidservants. “How many times to I have to ask you not to call me that, Alfie?” she scolds good-naturedly. “I am hardly a Lady.”

            “Yes, but you’ll be a Majesty soon enough!” one of the laundry maids says.

            Gwen grimaces slightly as she follows Alfie out the door. Æbbe doesn’t mean anything bad when she makes those sorts of comments, but they still bother her.

            Even if she does end up becoming Queen, which she’d really rather not, it will be a marriage of convenience, not love.

             As she follows Alfie down the winding corridors of the castle, Gwen wonders what need Arthur could possibly have for her. Since he’d become king, he hadn’t called for her once, preferring casual conversations whenever they happened to run into each other. Gwen doesn’t fault him for it, knows that Arthur has been unimaginably busy and also in a state of grief, but it makes this summons all the more odd.

             Gods, she hopes that he hasn’t decided to propose to her or something.

             When they reach the door to Arthur’s chambers, Alfie gives a comically stiff bow and scurries off, leaving Gwen alone. Forcing a smile, so as not to let her worry show on her face, she brings up her hand to rap firmly on the door.

            She has barely finished knocking when the door opens, just enough for Merlin to poke his head out.

            “Merlin?” Gwen asks, confused. It’s not exactly unheard of for Merlin to be in Arthur’s chambers, but he doesn’t usually answer the door, and never so strangely. “What’s going on?”

            Merlin has a shifty, hunted look in his eyes that disappears as soon as he registers who Gwen is. “Gwen!” he says in a falsely bright tone. “Come in.” He opens the door a little further and reaches out to grab Gwen’s wrist, bodily yanking her inside.

            “Merlin!” Gwen reproaches, pulling her arm out of his grasp. She’s unused to such rough treatment from Merlin, but one look at his pleading face persuades her to give him a chance to explain. “What’s going on?”

            Instead of answering, Merlin gestures in the general direction of Arthur’s bed. Gwen turns, and sees that Arthur is sitting in a chair next to the bed, hands folded in front of him, and that there is a dark-haired lump under the covers.

            Gwen feels her stomach lurch painfully. “Morgana?” she whispers, taking a step closer to the bed.

            Arthur, who seems not to have noticed Gwen entering the room, starts at her voice and looks away from Morgana’s prone body. “It is,” he says.

            “But…why?” Gwen asks, frowning down at Morgana. She looks ill, pretty face drawn and pale, and her cheekbones are much more prominent than Gwen remembers. “She’s the one who’s been tormenting us for the better part of a year.”

            “Actually,” Merlin exchanges a look with Arthur. “We don’t think she is.”

            Gwen must look as confused as she feels, because Merlin hurries to explain. “You saw her when she attacked the castle, just last month,” he says. “She looked perfectly healthy then, remember?”

            Gwen does. She remembers how terrified she had been, seeing all the humanity stripped from the face she knew so well. She remembers how her instinct had, even then, been to run towards Morgana, to help her fix whatever demons had caused the change.

            Unbidden, she feels hope begin to rise inside her as she understands what Arthur is saying. “There’s no way she could’ve gotten into this condition in only a month,” Gwen says.

            Merlin nods excitedly. “Yes! So there’s no way that the Morgana who attacked the castle last month and this Morgana are the same person.”

            “How do you know she’s not just disguising herself, or something?” Gwen asks. Despite her doubts, she moves to sit on the bed beside Morgana, smoothing a jagged lock of hair off her forehead.

            “We killed Morgause,” Arthur says softly, still staring at Morgana.

             It’s as though all the tension that Gwen didn’t know she held is released. For far too long, Morgause has been a constant figure in Gwen’s mind, a constant looming threat, a reminder of what happened to Morgana, how she was twisted and shaped into something bitter and unrecognisable. Gwen knows that it’s not polite to celebrate someone’s death, but that’s exactly what she feels like doing. “Why does that matter?” she asks, trying to keep the happiness out of her voice.

             It seems as though Arthur isn’t up to speaking more than a few words at a time, so Merlin takes over once again. “When Morgause died, something strange happened to Morgana,” Merlin begins. “Or, well, the Morgana that was with her at the time. Anyway, it was as though she was a mirage, or something. She just sort of – flickered, when Morgause was hurt, and disappeared entirely when Morgause died.”

            Gwen frowns. “So if she disappeared, how did you find her?”

            “We found Morgause’s hideout,” Merlin says quietly, eyes drifting away from Gwen and back to Arthur. “It looks as though Morgana had been imprisoned there, maybe since she was first kidnapped.”

            Gwen just nods, overwhelmed by the flow of information she’s receiving. “So you’ll need me to take care of her then, I’m guessing?”

            “Yes,” Arthur says. “And I may have to ask you to do something…rather uncomfortable.”

            “Anything,” Gwen replies. She means it with her whole heart. If it means that there’s even the slightest chance that she’ll get Morgana back, she’ll walk through fire.

            “I’d rather not tell anyone about her yet,” Arthur says “Because despite my own gut feeling, there is no solid proof that this is not the same Morgana. So we cannot exactly put her in her old chambers, or have her placed anywhere that a servant might walk in on her.”

            “You want her to stay in your chambers,” Gwen guesses, heart sinking.

            Arthur looks up, meeting Gwen’s eyes for the first time since she’d walked in the room. “Yes. And I know that may be difficult for you, the assumptions of the others in the castle -”

            “I’ll do it,” Gwen interrupts firmly. “Let them talk.”

            Arthur finally smiles. “Thank you, Guinevere,” he says sincerely. “You’re a very good friend.”

            From behind her, Gwen can hear Merlin give a little scoff. She doesn’t hold it against him, though, because she knows very well what it feels like to be jealous, to resent anyone paying attention to the object of your affections, even if there is no chance that they will ever feel the same way. She and Merlin have had this in common for years, and she would quite happily inform Merlin that she was no threat, if she thought there was the slightest chance that Arthur returned his feelings. Unfortunately, despite all the little looks and affectionate sniping that Arthur and Merlin share, Gwen has the loss of her own maidenhood to prove that Arthur is only sexually interested in women.

            Of course, that particular encounter proved the same thing for Gwen.

            “It’s not a problem at all,” Gwen says. “But where will you sleep?”

            “I’ve already moved most of my things to the guest room down the hall,” Arthur says, standing up. He still looks worried, still has that faint line between his eyes that had appeared the night Uther died and never left, but he looks lighter than he had when Gwen entered the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, we’ve decided that we’re going to tell Gaius what’s going on.”

            “You may be a trained lady’s maid, Gwen, but you’re hardly a healer,” Merlin pipes up.

            Gwen smiles at him, relieved. “I’m glad to hear it,” she says. “Go on, I’ll look after Morgana.”

            As they make to leave, Arthur turns around one more time. “Really, Guinevere, thank you,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to rely on.”

            Gwen gives an embarrassed little smile. “Of course,” she says. “But I’m sure you could get along without me just fine, as long as you still had Merlin.”

            Arthur throws back his head and laughs, showing off straight, white teeth. “This idiot?” he says, grabbing Merlin in an affectionate headlock. “More of a burden than an asset, he is.”

            Merlin yanks himself away, looking harassed, though there’s a slight smile playing around his lips. “You’d be a wreck without me and you know it,” he says. “Now come on, _your highness_ , we have things to do.”

            They leave the room, and, for the first time in years, Gwen is alone with the woman she has never quite forced herself to stop loving.

***

            As Arthur and Merlin make their way down to Gaius’s chambers, Merlin is reluctant to break the lightness that is between them, reluctant to plunge them back into the tension that they had been experiencing since the Morgana copy flickered out of existence. However, he knows what he has to do.

            The only reason Morgana ever fell in with Morgause was because of Uther’s intolerance of her magic. Merlin has been putting off his talk with Arthur about the magic laws, knowing that it was futile while Morgana was still a threat, but now he has an opening.

            He cannot let Morgana suffer alone. Not if he can help it.

            “Arthur?” Merlin begins, uncharacteristically hesitant.

            Arthur immediately turns to him, suspicion raised. “What?” he asks.

            “About Morgana’s magic…”

            “We’ll deal with that when she wakes up,” Arthur says. “I’m sure she can be convinced not to use it anymore, in exchange for refuge at the castle.”

            “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Merlin says.

            Arthur sighs and stops walking, turning to Merlin. “What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Repeal the ban on magic that’s existed for over twenty years? You know how dangerous magic is, Merlin. You’ve seen it.”

            “I’ve also seen how the ban on magic has negatively affected so many people’s lives.” Merlin says. “Morgana’s not the only one. Remember Gwen’s father? Gaius?”

            “Merlin,” Arthur says, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not discussing this with you. Magic killed my mother, my father, and has nearly killed me more times than I can count. It’s dangerous, and I will not have it threatening my kingdom.”

            “But don’t you see?” Merlin exclaimed, voice getting louder in his anger. “Most of those plots on your life were _because_ of the ban on magic. They were angry because someone they loved was executed, or because they lost their livelihood due to the ban. Magic itself is not evil, but when people are backed up against a wall, they sometimes do stupid things.”

            “So you’re saying that all the times I was almost killed were _my_ fault?” Arthur yells.

            “I’m _saying_ that Morgana cannot help having magic, and nor can anyone else.” Merlin shoots back. “And if your father had figured that out instead of letting his prejudice blind him, Morgana would never have thrown her lot in with Morgause.”

            Arthur grabs Merlin’s arm tightly, his fingers digging a little bit into the flesh. “If I didn’t know better, Merlin, I might think that you had a personal stake in this argument.”

            Merlin wrenches his arm out of Arthur’s grip and steps back a little. He’s livid, knows that it’s showing in his eyes, and he needs to get out of this situation before he does or says something stupid. He can’t resist a parting blow, though: “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t expect my help when you drive her away once again.” He turns on his heel and continues the march towards Gaius’s chamber, ignoring Arthur’s heavy footfalls behind him.

***

            When Morgana wakes up, the first thing she registers is how comfortable she is. After so long sleeping on a hard floor, with only a small blanket to shield her from the cold, she’s now lying on something soft and yielding, which is cradling her body. The bones of her hips, which jut out sickeningly now, aren’t digging painfully into the ground.

            Smiling a little to herself, Morgana burrows her head a little deeper into the softness underneath it. She can tell that it’s down, similar to the pillow she had slept on when she lived in Camelot.

            As soon as that thought crosses her mind, Morgana’s eyes fly open. This feels too real to be another one of the dreams where she is back in the palace. Something’s wrong.

            It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sight around her. When she registers what she’s seeing, though, she sits up, ramrod-straight, because she would recognise the room around her anywhere.

            She’s lying in Arthur’s chambers, in his _bed_ , and she doesn’t understand what’s going on.

            “Morgana?” a familiar voice, soft, lyrical, _beautiful_.

            Morgana turns to the source of the voice. “Gwen?” she mumbles, swallowing against the dryness of her throat, the ache of disuse.

            Sitting in a chair next to Arthur’s bed, looking down at Morgana with soft eyes, Gwen looks like an angel. Her curls are loose, framing her face in the way that Morgana had always loved, and she looks tired, dark purple circles under her eyes and new frown lines etched around her mouth, though she’s not frowning now. She’s wearing a simple yellow frock, the one that contrasts with her dusky skin so well and makes her glow, and there’s a pile of mending on her lap.

            Morgana’s absolutely sure that she’s dead or else hallucinating, that the lack of food has finally gotten to her, or that she’s gone mad from spending so long alone. Every explanation for the current situation that she can think of flashes through her mind in quick succession, because the most obvious solution – that she’s really back in Camelot, that she’s safe and warm and reunited with her favourite person in the world – is just too far-fetched.

            If she were really to see Gwen again, Morgana’s absolutely certain that there would not be a small smile playing around Gwen’s lips, the way there is right now. No, she’s certain that Gwen would look at her with defiance, hatred, poorly disguised fear.

            After all, Morgana’s seen the way her betrayal has affected Gwen. In her feverish dreams, the nights she’d taken her bracelet off, she’s seen Gwen lying in her bed, crying. She’s seen Gwen going about her everyday duties, eyes staring straight ahead and not registering the things going on around her. She’s seen Gwen come face-to-face with the double, seen how cruelly and callously the double had treated her.

            She’s seen Gwen in Arthur’s bed, seen how everyone in the castle knows and accepts that Gwen will marry Arthur and become Queen, and that somehow hurts more than the rest of the visions combined.

            “How are you feeling?” Gwen asks, putting her mending down and standing up. “Do you need anything? Food? Water?”

            As much as Morgana would like to sink into this fantasy, to pretend that everything is alright, she can’t. If she somehow wakes up, comes back to her senses in her prison cell, after thinking that this is real, it will kill her.

            “What’s happening?” Morgana asks. “Why am I here?”

            The words cause her to go into a coughing fit, and Gwen springs into action, cradling the back of Morgana’s head in one gentle hand and bringing a canteen up to her lips.

            Morgana drinks greedily, drinks until she doesn’t feel like the act of speaking is causing her throat to tear. When Gwen takes the canteen away and lowers Morgana’s head back to the pillow, she repeats herself. “What’s going on? How did I get here?”

            “Arthur and the knights found you,” Gwen says, her voice still soft. “They brought you back here.”

            “But _why_?” Morgana asks.

            “They know what really happened,” Gwen says. “They know it hasn’t really been you doing all those horrible things.”

            “But how?” Morgana asks. She will not let herself hope. She won’t.

            Gwen hesitates, settling back down into her chair and reaching out a hand to Morgana. Before it makes contact, she seems to think better of it, and drops the hand back into her lap, twisting her fingers together nervously. “Morgause is dead,” she says.

            Gwen’s looking at Morgana like she’s afraid that Morgana is going to have a breakdown but Morgana doesn’t feel anything. She had thought of this day countless times during her captivity, thought of the day when she’d be free of Morgause’s cruelty. She had expected to feel happy, vindicated, relieved.

            She doesn’t. She feels numb.

            “How did that tell them that it wasn’t me?” Morgana asks.

            Gwen reaches her hand out again, but this time, she doesn’t pull it away. Moving slowly and cautiously, Morgana reaches out her own hand until it’s in Gwen’s, their fingers laced together. “The double disappeared when Morgause died,” Gwen says. “Must be that the spell died with her.”

            “How did they find me?” Morgana asks. She’s not looking at Gwen’s face, choosing instead to focus on their clasped fingers. Morgana’s hand looks almost impossibly pale and delicate in Gwen’s, which are darker and roughened by work. “I was hidden away pretty well.”

            “I’m not sure,” Gwen says, a small frown on her face. “They didn’t really tell me about it.”

            “Where are they now?” Morgana asks. She’s slowly starting to relax, starting to believe that she might actually be here, that the nightmare that’s been her life for far too long is actually over. Of course, she knows that she still has things to make up for, that she won’t be forgiven in an instant, but it’s a start.

            “They went to get Gaius,” Gwen replies, absently playing with Morgana’s fingers. “They want him to examine you, make sure you’re healthy.” She frowns a little. “They’ve actually been gone for quite a long time.”

            “Probably bickering,” Morgana says softly.

            “They always do,” Gwen replies, just as softly.

            “Gwen, I -” Morgana starts. She’s not entirely sure how she’s going to finish that sentence – am sorry? Missed you? Love you? – but she doesn’t have to worry about it, because she’s interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

            “Come in,” Gwen calls, squeezing Morgana’s hand. It’s as though she knows how difficult this is going to be, knows that the knock caused a hard knot of anxiety in Morgana’s stomach.

            The door opens, and Gaius walks through the door.  He looks exactly the same as the last time Morgana had seen him, just as kindly but no-nonsense, and his smile is a reassuring sight. “Lady Morgana,” he says. “It’s good to see you again.”

            “You as well, Gaius,” Morgana says, making an effort to sit up in order to make Gaius’s job easier. “Are Arthur and Merlin not with you?”

            Gaius comes around the side of Arthur’s bed and begins to examine Morgana, checking the glands on her neck and turning her head this way and that. “They thought it would be a good idea to give you space. They didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

            Morgana hesitates for a second. “And…the king?” she asks. “Is he to be made aware that I’m back?”

            She knows something is wrong before the sentence has fully made its way out of her mouth. Gaius’s head jerks up sharply and his eyebrows nearly fly off his forehead. Shocked by the reaction, Morgana whips around to face Gwen, who has gone pale. “What is it?” she demands. “What’s wrong?”

            “Morgana…” Gwen says, exchanging a quick, helpless look with Gaius. “King Uther is dead.”

***

            Arthur sweeps into the guest bedroom where he’s staying for the time being and launches himself face-first onto the bed. The long, tedious meetings with advisors he’d attended all afternoon had left him with a pounding headache just behind his eyes. Ordinarily, he’d deal with something like this by ordering Merlin to fetch a remedy from Gaius, or to draw a bath. He’d be happy to do that now, but Merlin isn’t speaking to him at the moment.

            Arthur turns over onto his back and frowns up at the ceiling. Not for the first time, he wonders how Merlin has so much control over him, how Merlin’s opinions can influence his own so strongly.

            He knows, without a doubt, that his father would never allow the opinions of a servant to affect him. Hell, Uther probably wouldn’t even have noticed if a servant had stopped talking to him.

            Then again, Arthur is not his father. It’s a fact he’s had to deal with for most of his life.

            What makes the situation worse, Arthur thinks, is that Merlin does have a point. Oh, Arthur’s still convinced that magic is dangerous, that magic does nothing but corrupt and harm, but the fact remains that he cannot be lenient with Morgana while still punishing other magic users. Even if he could convince everyone, his advisors and the public at large, of the fact that Morgana isn’t responsible for most of the things that have happened, she still has magic and she has still used it in a kingdom that forbids it.

            Basically, Arthur has three choices here. One is to treat Morgana as he would any other magic user: send her to the scaffold, or the dungeons, or exile her. That is an option that Arthur refuses to even consider. For all the annoyances that Morgana has caused him over the years, she is like a sister to him, and he’s already gone through the pain of losing her once. He will not go through it again, not while he can help it.

            The second choice, then, is to continue the way things are now. He can hide Morgana in his chambers, only allow her to go out heavily disguised. Again, this is not really an option at all. Sooner or later, someone would see her, the story would come out, and he would be right back to where he started.

            The only real option he has, then, is option three: do what Merlin suggests, and repeal the ban on magic.

            Arthur groans and flips back over again, knocking his forehead lightly against his forearm. The very idea of allowing sorcerers to practice their craft openly in Camelot fills him with fear. He cannot have another Valiant, another Catrina, another _Morgause_ , using the repealed ban against him.

            But maybe…Arthur lifts his head slightly with a frown. The majority of the magic users he’s faced down in his lifetime had one thing in common: they were bitter about the ban on magic, angry at his father for killing so many magic users. Even Morgause, evil and twisted as she was, had been trying to bring magic back to Camelot. If he were to repeal the ban…then maybe, just maybe, there would be _fewer_ attacks then before.

            Arthur hauls himself to his feet and slips out of the room, setting out with purposeful strides towards the lower part of the castle. He doesn’t know anything at all about magic, and if there’s any way he’s even going to seriously consider repealing the ban, he needs to discuss it with someone who does know someone. There’s only one person in the entire castle who fills the requirements, and that’s Gaius.

            And if the thought of the pleased smile that Merlin is sure to give him when he learns of Arthur’s change of heart makes his feet move a little more quickly as he makes his way down to Gaius’s chambers, no one ever has to know.

***

            After Gaius leaves, declaring Morgana malnourished, bruised, and dehydrated, but otherwise fine, Morgana tells Gwen that she just wants to go to bed. Gwen agrees and watches, helpless, as Morgana turns her face towards the wall.

            Gwen doesn’t know how she expected Morgana to react when she found out about Uther’s death, but it certainly wasn’t this. After Gwen had broken the news to her, Morgana had gone completely silent and closed off. She supposes it must be difficult to know that your father figure went to the grave thinking you were trying to destroy him, but Gwen still finds it strange that people can mourn a man as cruel as Uther in any capacity.

            Knowing that she’s helpless to improve Morgana’s mood, Gwen mutters a quick goodbye, which goes unreciprocated, and slips out of Arthur’s chambers to make her way home.

            She’s still overjoyed to have Morgana back in Camelot where she belongs, of course she is, but Gwen has the feeling that re-assimilating Morgana to castle life won’t be easy.

            And as she passes Æbbe on the way out of the castle and gets a wink and a small curtsey, she recognises that the other parts of her life won’t be easy, either.

            But then, when have they ever been?  

***

            Sometimes Merlin feels like he spends a majority of his life complaining about Arthur to Gaius.

            As soon as Gaius had gotten back from examining Morgana ( _after_ Merlin asked how she was, of course), Merlin had launched into a rant about Arthur’s absolute refusal to see reason and now, nearly twenty minutes later, he’s just hit his stride.

            “…I mean, what does he _think_ he’s going to do!?” Merlin exclaims, pacing back and forth across the small room. “Hide Morgana in his chambers forever? Pretend that she doesn’t actually have magic, and it was all a joke? Or just make an exception for her, while still burning every other sorcerer at the stake?” he throws himself into a chair, dramatically. “So it’s decided,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will not be speaking to him until he agrees to at least _listen_ to reason.”

            “If I disagree with you, can you stop speaking to me as well?” Gaius asks placidly, from where he’s writing out instructions on what Morgana needs to eat to get her strength back.

            Merlin gapes. “Gaius, this is serious!” he says. “This could be our chance to change things!”

            “No, Merlin, it could be _your_ chance to change things,” Gaius says, pausing in his writing as he looks up at Merlin sternly. “I’m far too old to be fighting this battle.”

            Merlin’s just opened his mouth to argue, to say that it doesn’t matter how old he is, he still needs to try to help, when he hears Arthur’s voice call down the corridor: “Gaius!”

            Merlin rolls his eyes, then shuts his mouth with a snap and turns towards the door. As Arthur bursts into the room, Merlin gives him his most judgmental look, the one he’s learned from Gaius.

            “Don’t give me that look, Merlin,” Arthur grumbles.

            Merlin doesn’t move.

            Arthur throws his hands up in the air. “Ugh, fine. I’ve thought about it, and repealing the magic ban may not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

            Merlin’s shocked. He doesn’t think that Arthur, stubborn as he is, has ever given up on something this quickly. He can’t control the smile that spreads over his face, and that fact takes the bite out of the words when he says “Seeing reason now, are you?”

            “Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur snaps, and answering grin taking over his face. He turns to Gaius. “If I were to repeal the ban,” he begins. “I’d need some way to regulate the use of magic. I can’t have people running around using it however they please.”

            “And what would you like me to do about that?” Gaius asks.

            Arthur drops into the chair next to Merlin. “You’re the only person I know, besides Morgana, who has magic,” he says. “You’re also the most knowledgeable, and the only one who was around back when magic was allowed. I’d need you to advise me.”

            Gaius meets Arthur’s eyes. “While I would be glad to put my theoretical knowledge to use,” he begins. “You have to understand, Arthur, that my magic is not very powerful at all. The only thing I am really useful for is healing.”

            “It’s better than nothing,” Arthur argues.

            “Indeed, but,” Gaius pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I do not have the power to back up any regulations that I might put into place. Also, I am old. I haven’t got the energy to take on any new duties.”

            Arthur sighs, deflating a bit. “I suppose that’s fair,” he says. “But what other option do I have? Unless I have someone I trust completely on my side, someone who can protect the people, I cannot repeal the ban. Morgana won’t do. We don’t know the extent of the damage that Morgause might have done to her mind over the last two years, and, anyway, I don’t entirely trust her yet.”

            Throughout Arthur’s entire speech, Gaius is looking at Merlin, one eyebrow raised and smirk playing around his lips. Merlin can hardly believe what’s happening. For so long, Gaius has been the one person who knows about his magic, and the one person who has impressed upon him the necessity of keeping it a secret. Now, it seems, Gaius is encouraging him to tell, to speak the words that have been threatening to burst out of Merlin for years now. Merlin opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur’s still talking, mostly to himself.

            “I suppose I could look outside the castle, find someone else with magic,” Arthur muses. “But how can I be sure that person is trustworthy?” Suddenly, his eyes light up, and he turns to Merlin. “Merlin,” he says urgently. “When we were fighting Morgause, and that bolt of magic came out of nowhere and distracted her, what was that name she said?”

            Merlin cannot believe his life right now. “Emrys?” he asks.

            “Yes, that’s it!” Arthur jumps up again in excitement. “Whoever this Emrys fellow is, he was definitely trying to help us. Seems he’s pretty powerful, too. If we can find him, he may be our best bet.”

            Gaius is smirking down at his hands the entire time Arthur is talking. Merlin can’t contain his mirth quite so well, and he lets out a loud bark of laughter.

            Arthur whips around and glares at Merlin. “Have you something to say?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

            This is it. Merlin takes a deep breath and holds out one hand. Making sure he’s staring directly into Arthur’s eyes, he whispers a spell, and sees the exact moment his eyes flash gold by the pure shock on Arthur’s face.

            In Merlin’s outstretched hand, a small, blue globe of light appears, the very same one he had once conjured in his sleep to help guide Arthur along.

            “You…” Arthur gasps. It may be the first time Merlin hasn’t been pleased that he’s stricken Arthur dumb. Despite Arthur’s conviction that he’s going to repeal the magic ban, Merlin still has years of illegally using magic that he has to answer for.

            He can only hope that the amount of times he has saved Arthur’s life will work in his favour.

            “It was you who hit Morgause, wasn’t it?” Arthur asks quietly, eyes still boring into Merlin’s.

            Merlin nods.

            “And the day we first met, you saved me with magic, didn’t you?”

            “Used magic to cheat in that fight, too,” Merlin jokes weakly.

            Arthur stares for another moment, and then: “You absolute _idiot_ ,” he cries. “You could have been _killed_.”

            Merlin can feel the big, stupid smile spreading over his entire face. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been.”

            Arthur blows out a stream of air and sits back down heavily. “Anything _else_ you have to tell me?” he asks.

            “I…can control dragons?” Merlin says.

            Arthur looks at him in disbelief. “Oh Gods,” he says. “Tell me you can’t change your appearance to look like an old man as well. Tell me you aren’t Dragoon.”

            Merlin smiles weakly.

            Arthur swears. “So, my father?”

            The mood is serious once again. “Morgause,” Merlin says. “There was this charm – it reversed the effect of any magic used on him. We didn’t find it until it was too late. I’m sorry.”

            “Why should I believe you?” Arthur asks.

            “Because I’ve stayed by your side every day since I met you?”

            There’s a long, tense moment of silence during which Merlin is certain that he’s signed his own death warrant, before Arthur breaks it with a small nod. “Fair enough,” he says. “So, how are we going to do this?

***

            When Morgana wakes up for the second time in the castle, it’s the polar opposite of the first – there’s no adjustment period, no moment of being blissfully unaware of the world around her. No, the instant she wakes up, she remembers: she is back in Camelot, and her father died thinking that she was actively trying to kill him.

            Morgana’s a realist. She knows that Uther was completely intolerant of her magic, that he sent hundreds of people just like her to their deaths for no reason at all. Logically, she should hate him, and sometimes, she does.

            But he’s her father. In blood, yes, but that revelation means less to Morgana now than it once did. He’s the man who was there for her entire childhood, the one who taught her to ride astride a horse despite his better judgment, and always took her side in her endless petty arguments with Arthur.

            No matter what Uther was, no matter how their relationship fell apart in the end, Morgana’s devastated that he took a false impression of her to the grave.

            This morning, Gwen’s not in the room when Morgana wakes up, though the tray of food by Morgana’s bedside shows that Gwen had visited. Morgana supposes that, while she is being hidden away, it makes sense that Gwen still needs to perform her duties. Still, she misses Gwen, and wishes that Gwen could stay by her side at all times, just like the old days.

            (A small, spiteful part of Morgana, the part she hates because it caused her to throw her lot in with Morgause in the first place, thinks that it’s not very gentlemanly of Arthur to make Gwen continue to do her duties after he’d fucked her. She fully intends to give him a talking-to about it, even if he doesn’t forgive her. Even if he sends her to the scaffold, she’ll tell him to treat Gwen right with her last breath).

            There’s a knock on the door. It’s not hesitant enough to be Gwen, not impatient enough to be Merlin, and no one else would dare to knock on the king’s door before noon. It must be Arthur. Still, Morgana doesn’t say anything, because if she’s wrong, and she ends up alerting some hapless servant to her presence, it may not matter whether Arthur forgives her or not.

            From what she’s seen of her clone’s activities over the last year, the ordinary people of Camelot have more than enough justification to tear her limb from limb themselves.

            There’s a pause, and the knock comes again, this time accompanied by a soft voice. “Morgana?” Arthur calls.

            “Yes, come in,” Morgana says back, just as softly.

            The door opens, and Arthur strides in.

            Morgana’s seen Arthur in her visions a few times, since she’s been away, but it hadn’t really prepared her for seeing Arthur this way. The Arthur she’d left behind had been, without a doubt, a boy: still searching for his father’s approval, still mainly concerned with his prowess as a knight and preparing himself to be king one day.

            This Arthur, the one who walks into the room and stands awkwardly at Morgana’s bedside, is a man. The mantle of kingship has fallen over his shoulders and changed everything about him, from the way he holds himself to the look on his face. Morgana was not prepared for this kind of change in Arthur, and she finds herself, for the first time in her life, uncertain of how Arthur will behave.

            When they had been children, even up until she had been kidnapped, Morgana had always been able to manipulate Arthur, to use her knowledge of his character to guess how he would react in any situation. While she had mostly used this knowledge for childhood games, to blame Arthur for something she had done or to cause him to look foolish in front of courtiers or foreign dignitaries, she had, in her last year at the castle, used it for more nefarious purposes.

            She knows, almost instinctively, as she looks at the man, the _king_ , whose presence fills the room, that those days are over. “Arthur,” she says, watching him with wary eyes as he sinks into the chair that Gwen had left beside his bed.

            “Morgana,” Arthur replies. “It’s good to see you again.”

            The distance, the betrayal, the changes in both of them, have caused their interactions to become oddly stilted. “You as well,” Morgana attempts a smile. “So, you and Gwen?”

            It’s not a topic Morgana wants to talk about, particularly, but it’s certainly better than discussing her magic, or anything to do with Morgause.

            From the look on Arthur’s face at the question, he hadn’t been expecting Morgana to open with that question. She relishes the fact that she still retains the ability to knock him off guard. “What about Guinevere and I?” he asks with a frown.

            “You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” Morgana asks, struggling slightly to sit up.

            “Where did you hear that?”

            Morgana hesitates. The truth will cause them to speak of the very topic that she wishes to avoid, her magic, but she can’t very well lie. The only people she has spoken to since she awakened are Gwen and Gaius. She cannot imagine that Gaius has any business knowing of Arthur and Gwen’s relationship, and she will not betray Gwen by telling Arthur that she had said something.

            “I didn’t hear anything,” Morgana admits. “I saw.”

            “You saw?” Arthur looks confused for a moment, then his face clears. “Your dreams.”

            “Yes, my dreams. And after what I saw in my dreams, you had better be planning on asking Gwen to marry you,” Morgana says waspishly. She’s still afraid of Arthur, still uncertain of how far she can push him, but Gwen’s well-being, Gwen’s happiness, is more important than Morgana’s own.

            She wishes that she had realised this sooner.

            Arthur blushes a dark red, obviously realising what Morgana has seen. “My relationship with Guinevere is really none of your business, Morgana.”

            “It is when you take her to your bed and then just _ignore_ her,” Morgana snaps, gearing up for a fight.

            “I’ve never ignored her,” Arthur replies, exasperated. “We made a mutual decision that a relationship between us was not a good idea…”

            Morgana snorts. “Mutual, sure. She is a servant, Arthur, and you are the king! She cannot very well argue with you when you choose to throw her aside like so much trash.”

            “I didn’t -” Arthur begins, but Morgana has already decided to switch tactics.

            “Look, Arthur, you and I both know that Gwen would make a wonderful queen,” her voice is soft, cajoling. “Better than the other girls you’ve chosen to mess about with, at least. She’s kind, generous, understanding…the people would love her, and they would love you for choosing to marry a girl who’s not nobility. I do not see what your problem is.”

            “Is it so wrong to want to marry for love, Morgana?” Arthur asks. The fight has gone out of his voice as well. “Now that Father is dead, I will not be pressured into marriage, and I can take my time, choose to marry a…girl that means the world to me.”

            “I would never have taken you for a romantic, Arthur,” Morgana says softly. “But where are you going to find this mystical woman, exactly? You have duties now, you cannot exactly go searching for love. Besides, Gwen is wonderful. If you do not love her in a romantic way now, you will learn to.” Morgana cannot imagine a world in which someone does not love Gwen. She is certain that she’s right.

            “And what of Guinevere?” Arthur asks, but he’s wavering, and Morgana knows she’s gotten to him. “What if she wishes to marry for love, as well? She should get the chance, even if I do not.”

            “She loves you, Arthur,” Morgana says. “I could see that much from my vision. Marry her. You will not regret it.”

            Arthur nods slowly. “You’re right, of course you are.” A smile spreads across his face, and Morgana can instantly see traces of the old Arthur, the one that she knows better than almost anyone else. “Gods, I’ve missed you, Morgana.”

            Morgana can’t stop the smile from stealing over her face. “I did not sign up for this soppiness, Arthur,” she says, mock-sternly.

            Arthur returns the smile. “Morgana, about your magic…”

            “What about it?” Morgana snaps back, instantly on the defensive.

            Arthur doesn’t even look taken aback, like he had expected her to react in exactly the way she did, and Morgana is reminded, unpleasantly, that Arthur knows her just as well as she knows him. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins.

            “Well, that’s dangerous,” Morgana interrupts.

            Arthur continues as though she hadn’t spoken a word. “Now that I am king, it is time for me to leave my own mark on Camelot, to do what I think is right. The ban on magic has caused countless problems throughout the years, and I cannot, in good conscience, continue to put people to death who haven’t done anything wrong.”

            Despite herself, Morgana’s hopes are starting to rise. It almost sounds as though Arthur is saying –

            “I’ve decided to repeal the ban on magic,” Arthur says softly, and before Morgana even consciously recognises the words, she’s gotten up from the bed and thrown her arms around Arthur’s neck. The sudden movement causes her entire body to scream in pain, because the scars, both physical and mental, of her captivity will take far more than a day to fade, but she doesn’t care, can’t process anything but how unbelievably happy and relieved she feels. “Thank you,” she whispers into Arthur’s neck.

            Arthur’s arms have come up to hug Morgana’s waist, though it’s rather uncomfortable, given the fact that he’s still seated and Morgana’s arms are tight and unyielding around him. “You’re welcome,” he says back. “I really have missed you, you know, and I couldn’t bear the thought of punishing you for something you were born with.”

            The pain in Morgana’s arms and back is becoming unbearable, and so she finally lets go of Arthur and allows herself to fall back into a seated position on the bed. “You really should punish me a bit,” she says, guilt welling up in her from how kind Arthur is being. “Even if it hasn’t been me for the past year, I’ve still plotted against you, against the crown. Aren’t you angry with me for that?”

            “I was,” Arthur admits. “I was for a very long time. But then I spoke to Merlin, last night.”

            Morgana frowns. “Merlin?” She had been under the impression that Merlin was the person in the castle who’d have the hardest time forgiving her, so to find out that he’d suddenly convinced Arthur to let go of his own anger seems strange.

            “Yes, Merlin,” Arthur replies. He has that soft look in his eyes, the gentle smirk playing around his lips that he often gets when speaking of Merlin. Unbidden, Morgana flashes back to their earlier conversation about love and marriage, more specifically, the moment that Arthur had paused before saying ‘girl’. “Didn’t you know about him?”

            “Know what?” Morgana asks.

            “He has magic,” Arthur says. “Actually, according to Gaius, he may be the most powerful sorcerer ever to live. Can you imagine? Merlin!”

            Morgana is gobsmacked. “Merlin’s a sorcerer?”

            “Yes,” Arthur says. “He’s the one who convinced me to repeal the ban and, last night, he explained to me how you must have been feeling while under Uther’s laws. How you must have been scared, and frustrated, and that caused you to lash out. I’m not pleased about some of the things that you did, but I understand why you did them.”

            Dimly, Morgana recognises Arthur’s words, but her entire brain is still focused on the revelation that Merlin is a sorcerer, and the anger that it’s causing her. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she demands. “He could have helped.”

            “He was just as afraid as you were,” Arthur says. “How was he to know you wouldn’t go to Father? And, let’s face it; there was a time when Father probably would have forgiven you anything, even magic. He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Merlin.”

            Morgana understands, she does, but now she’s faced with a burning need to speak to Merlin. She needs to hear his explanation with her own ears before she can forgive him for leaving her floundering on her own. “Go get Merlin for me,” she demands, finding that it’s relatively easy for her to slip into the commanding voice she’d always used at court. “I wish to speak with him.”

            Arthur rolls his eyes, but stands up to do as she asks. “You must lie down, though,” he says. “Gaius says you’re still weak.”

            He turns to go, while Morgana begins to wriggle back underneath the blankets. Just as Arthur reaches the door, though, Morgana realises something. “Arthur!” she calls.

            Arthur turns around, brow furrowed.

            “You said that Merlin’s the most powerful sorcerer in the world,” she hesitates, thinking of the times that Morgause had paced around her basement cell, raging because she had, once again, been defeated by the only sorcerer more powerful than her. “He’s not…he’s not Emrys, is he?”

            “That’s what the Druids call him, apparently,” Arthur says with a shrug. “I’m not sure why. I’ll get him for you.”

            As Arthur exits the room, Morgana realises she’s no longer afraid of him.

            She is afraid of Merlin, though.

***

            Gwen feels guilty about leaving Morgana in Arthur’s room alone, but she really cannot be seen to be neglecting her duties, especially after Æbbe made it clear to her that the other servants all know where she’s been spending her time. Besides, Morgana was still sleeping when Gwen went to bring her breakfast and, judging by the way she had behaved after learning about Uther’s death, she wouldn’t want the company anyway.

            Nevertheless, Gwen’s still excited to see Morgana, so she finishes up her work as quickly as possible and makes the trek up to Arthur’s chambers, smiling all the way. On her way up the stairs, she runs into Arthur.

            “Guinevere, there you are,” he says. “I need to speak with you.” Looking around to make sure that no one is watching, he beckons her over to an alcove near the top of the stairs.

            “What is it, sire?” Gwen asks warily.

            “So I was speaking to Morgana just now -” Arthur begins.

            “And how did that go?” Gwen asks politely. She has a bad feeling about this.

            “Fine, fine,” Arthur says. “And anyway, she said a few things that got me to thinking, and I was wondering,” he takes a deep breath and looks into her eyes. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my queen?”

            Gwen’s not the type of person to swear, even in her own head, but she feels that this situation calls for it. Fuck. Bloody buggering _fuck_. “Arthur,” she begins, wondering how on _Earth_ she is going to reject the king of Camelot’s marriage proposal. True, she knows Arthur well enough to know that he would never actually get angry with her for saying no, but she still doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Not to mention, there is still a little part of her that is wondering how crazy she must be to deny herself the opportunity to move up in rank, to no longer be a mere servant.

            “I know we spoke about this before,” Arthur says quietly, seeing her distress. “And I don’t want you to mistake this for a sudden declaration of love. While I would, of course, prefer to marry someone I was in love with, the fact is that Camelot is going to change very soon, in a radical way, and I need someone by my side who can help me navigate through it. You’re a good person, Guinevere, kind and practical and intelligent, and your counsel will be invaluable to me.”

            Gwen feels a little rush of relief at the words, glad, at least, that Arthur isn’t motivated by romance. “Arthur,” she says. “We hardly need to be married for you to receive my counsel. You know that, right?”

            Arthur sighs. “I do. It’s just… Morgana seems to feel very strongly about this, for whatever reason. She appears to be convinced that when we had our,” he coughs a little, reddening, and despite the fact that she has no romantic feelings for him, Gwen will never stop finding the fact that Arthur is incapable of speaking frankly about sexual matters adorable. “… _dalliances_ , that I treated you poorly, and the only way to make up for that would be to marry you. The idea that I might have hurt you in any way is distressing to me, and I don’t like the idea of Morgana being upset with me, so soon after her return, so I thought I may as well ask.”

            Gwen smiles. “Arthur, trust me, if you had hurt me in any way, you would have heard about it already. I’m hardly a shrinking flower.”

            Arthur laughs. “That you aren’t.”

            “Besides, I’m sure Merlin would already have taken you to task for it. Morgana is not the only person who cares for me, and she was not in the castle at the time – she doesn’t have the whole story.” Gwen frowns, suddenly realising – “How did she even know about us?”  
            Arthur goes even redder. “Apparently, she…erm…saw,” he says.

            Gwen can feel her eyes widen as the meaning of the words hits her. “Oh _Gods_ ,” she moans, covering her face.

            “My reaction exactly,” Arthur says, grimacing. “I may need to speak with her about boundaries, once she is recovered.” He pauses, eyes searching Gwen’s face. “So I take it you are declining my offer, then?”

            His eyes hold no judgment, and Gwen finds it easy to say “Yes, I am. I’m sorry.”

            Arthur nods and ushers them both out of the alcove. “Don’t be. It’s a bit of relief, actually. I never wanted my father to pressure me into marriage, and I certainly don’t want _Morgana_ to, either.” With a final smile, he turns to walk away.

            “Arthur,” Gwen calls.

            Arthur turns around.

            “What did you mean, when you said that Camelot would be changing?” Gwen asks.

            “Well, I can hardly hide Morgana in my rooms for the rest of her life, can I?” Arthur says flippantly. “I miss them. So, I suppose my only option is to make sure she can live openly in the kingdom again.”

            “You mean -” Gwen asks.

            “I’m repealing the ban on magic,” Arthur confirms. “And while you may not be my queen, I am still going to need all the help I can get to change things. Can I expect your guidance?”

            There are so many feelings swirling around inside of Gwen right now that she can hardly stand it. Still, she retains enough of her wits to drop her most polite curtsey, while looking at Arthur with a smirk playing around her lips. “Your wish is my command, Sire,” she says.

            Arthur turns away from her with a scoff. “I won’t invite you if you insist on behaving like _that_ ,” he calls over his shoulder, smiling, before disappearing down the stairs.

            Now that Arthur is no longer in the vicinity, Gwen allows her face to drop.

            She had thought that her feelings for Morgana were under control, thought that she had resigned herself to the fact that Morgana would never, ever feel the same way. And when Morgana had been gone, when Gwen had thought that she had turned her back on everything she had once loved, it was relatively easy, to keep Morgana out of her mind, to put one foot in front of the other, to try and move on.

            In the last day or so, though, ever since she learned that everything she thought she knew over the last year was a lie, it’s been harder for Gwen to keep a handle on those feelings.

            Gods, Morgana has just been _there_ , eyes soft and contrite, hair chopped and ragged, body bruised and emaciated, but still beautiful, and she’s seemed so _happy_ to be around Gwen, so willing to hold her hand or whisper soft words that Gwen has, without entirely realising it, allowed herself to hope again.

            Now, it’s like she’s come crashing back to earth, every single half-formed hope dashed in an instant.

            Not only does Morgana not have romantic feelings for her, but she actively wants Gwen to marry someone else.

            All of Gwen’s desire to see Morgana right now has suddenly vanished. It’s not as though she’s going to neglect her duties at all, because nothing has really changed, and she will continue to be loyal to Morgana no matter what, but she needs some time to recover from this blow before she will be able to act naturally around Morgana once again.

            Turning on her heel, Gwen hurries back down the stairs, grateful she had decided to get her work done so early. She’ll go back to her little house in the lower town, lie in bed for a bit, maybe cry, and be ready to bring Morgana her dinner on time.

            Preoccupied as she is, she doesn’t see the female form push open a door near the alcove and walk off quickly towards the kitchens.

***

            Arthur hurries off towards Gaius’s chambers after his confrontation with Guinevere, heart light. In the back of his mind, he vaguely wonders when, exactly, he became a messenger boy, doing things like fetching a servant and proposing to a girl because of Morgana’s whims. It’s not befitting for a king, really, but Arthur cannot bring himself to care.

            For the first time since Uther had died, Arthur feels like he has purpose and direction again. He’s always been more comfortable with action than the sort of careful diplomatic discussion he’s been limited to since he became king, and this decision to repeal the magic ban makes him feel like he’s got the chance to make a difference, to improve the lives of his subjects.

            The return of Morgana and the fact that he and Guinevere are apparently on the same page regarding their ill-advised courtship don’t hurt his mood either.

            As he draws even with Gaius’s door, he cannot help but feel a bit apprehensive.

            The night before, after Merlin’s big confession, Arthur had spent hours, first in the large room that consists of both Gaius’s workshop and sleeping quarters, then in Merlin’s tiny bedchamber when Gaius had gotten fed up and ordered them out of his room, grilling Merlin on just what, exactly, he’d been doing since he came to Camelot.

            He had learned everything, from Merlin’s role in exposing Valiant, to the death of Nimueh, to the fact that Merlin was the one who had released the dragon from beneath the castle.

            (“People _died_ , Merlin,” Arthur had snapped, horrified.

            “I know, it was a mistake. But I never break my promises, Arthur, you have to understand that. It was the only option I saw at the time.”)

            Arthur learned the truth about Merlin’s friends and family, learned the truth about Balinor and Will. Learned that Lancelot had known almost from the start, and the Gwaine almost certainly suspected.

            Merlin had even confessed, looking more remorseful and upset than Arthur had ever seen him before, to poisoning Morgana in a last-ditch attempt to save Camelot.

            (“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Merlin had confessed. “Can’t stop thinking that maybe, if I had told her about me, or came up with some other way to stop Morgause, that the last year may not have happened. That Morgana may have been safe and healthy and with us, the whole time.”

            Arthur, being more than familiar himself with the concept of choosing the lesser of two evils, of putting the well-being of his kingdom over individual subjects, hadn’t said anything in return. He liked to think, though, that the sympathetic hand he had rested on Merlin’s shoulder had made him feel just a little bit better.)

            Above all, Arthur had learned just how insanely powerful Merlin really was. He knew stories of magic from when he was a child – Uther hadn’t been able to stop people from _talking_ about magic, and besides, the history of Camelot was so steeped in magic that Arthur couldn’t have learned the history of his kingdom properly without the magical bits – and he had never heard of anyone being able to do some of the things that Merlin spoke about so casually.

            Though Arthur trusts Merlin with his life, maybe more than ever now that he knows just how many times Merlin has saved it, he can’t help being just a bit afraid of Merlin.

            Ever since Merlin had first come to the castle, he’d been a constant in Arthur’s life – clumsy, insolent, loyal, _wonderful_ Merlin, and Arthur had thought that he knew absolutely everything there was to know about him.

            Now, all of the sudden, that perception’s been turned on its head. Merlin is no longer a known entity, but something different, something wild and ancient and so powerful that even the Druids are wary of him, so powerful that Arthur can’t believe he didn’t notice before, because now that he knows, it’s as though the air around Merlin hums with his magic.

            Of course, Merlin is still all the things he was before – is still clumsy, is still insolent, still loyal and maybe even more wonderful now – but there are these new parts of him that Arthur needs to break in, and it makes him wary.

            Plus, Arthur can’t stop thinking of the fact that he’s put the most powerful sorcerer ever to exist in the stocks multiple times. He can hardly believe Merlin hasn’t turned him to dust, actually.

            Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushes open the door, and is absolutely unsurprised to see that Merlin is inside. Technically, Merlin is still on duty, and should be cleaning Arthur’s chambers or polishing Arthur’s armor, or whatever it is that his duties actually are, but now that his secret is out in the open, Arthur had suspected that he would use his magic to finish his duties more quickly and use the extra time to laze about.

            “Merlin,” he snaps as he walks in the room. “Shouldn’t you be doing work?” He crosses his arms over his chest and tries out his haughtiest and most imperial look on Merlin.

            Merlin, from where he’s poring over a book on Gaius’s table, looks up at Arthur and frowns. “I _am_ doing work,” he says. “Or did you forget that you asked me to research magic for you?”

            Arthur drops his false air of disappointment and moves around the table, suddenly fascinated by the tome that Merlin’s reading. “Is that a spellbook?” he asks. It just looks like a normal book to him, nothing obviously magical about it. “How did you get ahold of it so fast?”

            “I’ve been hiding it in my chambers for years?” Merlin offers Arthur a cheeky smile.

            “And the list of treasons just keeps growing,” Arthur grumbles as he drops into the chair next to Merlin’s. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to do this later. Morgana wishes to see you.”

            Merlin’s attention, which has been half on his book ever since Arthur entered the room, suddenly snaps entirely to Arthur. His face blanches. “Right now? Does she know?” he asks, voice abnormally squeaky.

            “Yes, I told her,” Arthur frowns. “Was I not supposed to?”

            “No, no, it’s fine,” Merlin says, standing up and nearly upsetting some of Gaius’s vials of medicine. “Oh Gods, she’s going to kill me.”

            Arthur tries very hard not to find Merlin’s panic endearing, and fails miserably. “I’m sure you could defeat her,” he says.

            “With magic? Of course,” Merlin replies. It’s those kinds of casual brush-offs of his skills that make Arthur uneasy. “But she’s going to _yell_ at me. And I’ll feel bad.”

            “Yes, she’s still the master of psychological warfare,” Arthur replies. “In fact, when I spoke with her just now, she guilted me into proposing to Guinevere!”

            Arthur’s expecting Merlin to laugh, find the idea just as ridiculous as both Arthur himself and Gwen had, but Merlin’s face drops entirely, and he squints at Arthur in confusion. “What do you mean, guilted?” he asks. “I thought you were going to do that anyway.”

            It’s Arthur’s turn to look confused. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

            “Don’t you remember the courting? The pining? The ill-advised forest picnic? Did you hit your head on something?”

            “That was a long time ago, Merlin!” Arthur replies. He can feel his face going hot, and he’s suddenly desperate to convince Merlin that he no longer has feelings for Guinevere, because somehow, the idea of Merlin being under that impression is more painful to him than the idea of Morgana, or even Guinevere herself, being under the same impression. “Any romantic feelings faded out long ago. I took Morgana’s advice and asked her anyway, just so Morgana didn’t get upset, but Guinevere feels the same way as I do.”

            “Oh.” Merlin still looks confused, like he thinks that Arthur’s trying to play some elaborate joke on him. “Alright, then.”

            Arthur doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He has a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Well? You don’t have all day. Morgana wants to see you, go on.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands, not stopping until Merlin, still confused, stands up. “And if you’re still alive after you’ve finished with Morgana, come to my chambers. We need to discuss how we’ll introduce the magic ban reveal, and what your new duties will be as Court Sorcerer.”

            Merlin finally wipes the dumb look off his face. “Very funny. I could turn you into a beetle, you know!” He calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

            Arthur keeps up his smile until he’s sure Merlin is gone, and then lets his head fall onto the table with a loud thunk.

            Despite what Morgana has always accused him of, Arthur is not, actually, completely oblivious to his own feelings. Maybe it sometimes takes him a bit longer to sort them out than it might take another person, but that’s understandable, because he has duties to attend to, knights to train, and now a kingdom to run, and besides, he is not supposed to allow his emotions to control his behavior, anyway.

            The thing is, though, Arthur knows exactly why he has been so quick to forgive Merlin for his lies over the years. Why he has allowed Merlin to influence his opinions in the first place. Why, even, he does not want to marry Guinevere.

            These things are just best not thought about, for so many reasons, starting with his own rank and ending in the fact that Merlin likely would not be interested anyway.

            Gods help him, though, something about this new (or not new, exactly, but newly discovered) Merlin, something about the confident set of his shoulders, the power thrumming beneath his skin, the way his eyes turn gold and his voice goes all guttural when he uses magic…

            Well, Arthur is not exactly…unaffected by these things.

            “Sire?” A voice comes from behind him as Gaius returns to his rooms. “Are you alright?”

            No. No he is not. “I’m just fine, Gaius,” Arthur says, raising his head from the table. “Now, if you’ll just excuse me, I’ll be off to do…kingly…things…”

            As he strides out the door, trying his best not to give in to his instincts and just run, he can’t stop thinking of just how utterly buggered he is.

***

            As Merlin hurries along the well-worn path from Gaius’s rooms to Arthur’s, he thinks that he’s never before made the journey with this much trepidation. He’s made it with sadness, sure, joy, anger, even a little bit of fear. But he’s never actively dreaded what he’d find on the other side of the door.

            Merlin has made a lot of mistakes since coming to Camelot. The direct results of his actions have killed countless citizens of Camelot, and some days it’s all he can do to roll out of bed and deal with the overwhelming guilt.

            He’s never regretted anything more keenly, though, than what he did to Morgana. And that’s the crux of his fear, really. As Arthur had pointed out, he’s not the slightest bit concerned for his own physical welfare. He’s not even, as he’d told Arthur, really concerned about what Morgana will actually say to him. No, he’s worried that his own guilt will overwhelm him as soon as he walks through the door.

            Merlin can’t tell if his guilt has gotten better or worse since they found Morgana. Now that he knows, he doesn’t feel as though the deaths of all the people that the false Morgana had killed are on his head. But the deaths of people he never met, callous as it sounds, mean less to him than the image of the broken girl lying in Arthur’s bed. If he had just been a little better, a little stronger, a little _smarter_ , this wouldn’t have happened.

            He thinks that, no matter what Morgana says to him, he will never forgive himself for that.

            He arrives outside Arthur’s door and hesitates, just for a second, before reaching out and knocking firmly. “Morgana?” he calls softly, after a cursory look around to ensure that no one is watching.

            “Come in,” Morgana’s voice comes through the door.

            Taking a deep breath, Merlin opens the door and strides inside.

            The first thing he notices is how much better Morgana looks now that she’s awake and rested. She’s a far cry from the Lady Morgana of the old days, of course, but she is also no longer the girl cowering in the corner of a dirt cell in a ripped dress. The colour has returned to her sunken cheeks and her eyes are steady as she appraises him.

            Belatedly, Merlin remembers to bow, because she still outranks him. Even back when they had been friends, when he’d been even more assured of Morgana’s affections than Arthur’s, Merlin had always treated her with more respect than he had Arthur. Maybe it’s because she is a woman, maybe it’s because of the unmistakable air of regality she had always given off (and still, in fact, gives off now), or just because he’s never seen her after just waking up in the morning, hair mussed and face smeared with drool and glaring up at him under heavy eyebrows, but he doesn’t have to know why for it to be ingrained in him.

            “From what I hear, I should be the one bowing to you, now,” Morgana says. Her voice still contains that lilting, musical quality it always had, the touch of an accent making her words just that little bit more beautiful than everyone else’s, but it’s hoarse and a little reedy.

            “Do you need some water?” Merlin asks, ignoring her actual words.

            “No, I’m fine,” Morgana says shortly.

            There’s an awkward pause, filled with all the things they need to say to each other.

            Merlin starts. “I’m so sorry, Morgana. If I could go back in time…”

            “You’d do the same thing,” Morgana interrupts. She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. “I…was angry at you for a very long time. I still am, a little bit. But I understand why you did it. I was out of control, and saving Camelot will always be more important than my life.”

            “That’s not what I was going to say,” Merlin replies, hesitantly going over to sit in the chair by Morgana’s bedside. “I was going to say that I’d tell you about my magic, help you through it a little more. If you had known someone was on your side…”

            “You were scared,” Morgana says softly. “I know, I understand what it’s like. But what I don’t understand is why you were so scared of Uther. Morgause told me, you know, what the Druids say about Emrys, about you. Even if he had decided to burn you at the stake – surely you could have gotten away.”

            “Of course I could have,” Merlin says. “But the thing is…Do you believe in destiny, Morgana?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well, I didn’t either, until I moved to Camelot. But if the last few years have showed me anything, it’s Arthur’s potential to be a great king, to bring about a golden age. I truly believe that it is my destiny to help him realise this potential.”

            Morgana nods, eyes lighting up with understanding. “You weren’t scared of Uther at all.”

            “Not even for a second,” Merlin confirms. “I wasn’t scared of Arthur, even, at least not in that way. I was afraid that he would hate me, would allow his prejudice against magic to twist him up inside, and prevent him from being the king he could be.”

            “So you were only afraid for the good of the kingdom, then?” Morgana raises one eyebrow, looking more like her old self by the second.

            Merlin blushes and ducks his head. “Not entirely,” he confesses. It’s painful, because he knows Morgana will understand, knows that this dark, secret part of him will reveal itself to Morgana in a second, but he’s already decided that he will never lie to Morgana again. Even just by omission.

            “Oh, Merlin,” Morgana says, and she’s looking at him with so much compassion and pity that Merlin is floored. He cannot believe that he ever thought, for a second, that Morgause’s twisted creation was Morgana, because she’s so entirely _good_.

            Merlin peeks at her from under his mess of hair. “I can’t believe you aren’t angry,” he says, voice small.

            “I’ve had a lot of time to ponder things,” Morgana shrugs and winces slightly. The motion must pull at one of her wounds.

            “I wish I could heal you,” Merlin says. “But that’s one of the things I’ve never studied, and I’m afraid I’d just hurt you more.”

            “Something the great Emrys can’t do?” Morgana teases.

            “There are many things I can’t do,” Merlin says. “I haven’t been taught, really, and not every problem can be solved by throwing raw power at it.”

            “Can you do that?” Morgana asks. “Just…throw your power around, without a spell?”

            She sounds endearingly curious, and Merlin’s smile comes easily. “The first thing I did when I met Gaius was reveal my magic to him by stopping time in order to prevent him from falling down.”

            “Gods,” Morgana whispers, almost reverently. “You can stop time?”

            Merlin squirms, uncomfortable. “Yes. It’s not very controlled, though.”

            “Can you teach me?” Morgana asks. “When I get better? Not to stop time, I know I’m not powerful enough for that, but just…Whatever you know?”

            Merlin reaches for her hand and squeezes her fingers between his, because he recognises just how important this moment is. “Of course. I may not be the best teacher, but I will try my best. Anything you want to know. I have spellbooks you can look at, Gaius can teach you things…it’ll be different now, Morgana. No more hiding. No more fear.”

            Morgana smiles and squeezes his hand back. “Thank you.”

            There’s another pause, but this one is more comfortable, even relieved. “Are you still having your dreams?” Merlin thinks to ask.

            “I _can_.” Morgana raises her left arm to show him a gold bangle around her wrist. Her arms are so thin that it looks to be in danger of falling off. “This blocks them out, stops them from happening. It’s the one good thing Morgause ever did for me.”

            Merlin frowns and leans a little closer to inspect the bangle. He can feel the magic emanating from it, but it doesn’t feel sinister. “So you didn’t see what happened to Camelot while you were gone?”

            “Not all of it. I slipped it off before going to sleep, sometimes. When my curiosity got the better of me.” She pauses. “I always wished I hadn’t, afterwards.”

            Merlin winces. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must have seen.”

            Morgana gives a bitter smile. “It wasn’t the big things that were the problem. Morgause was sure to tell me about them, anyway. It was the little things. Seeing how much everyone I loved hated me, was afraid of me. The individual suffering. Arthur and Gwen. The little things.”

            Merlin frowns, latching onto the mention of Arthur. “Arthur and Gwen? I thought you were happy for them. That’s what Arthur told me, at least.”

            Morgana shifts uncomfortably. “Not happy for them, exactly. But it’s the right thing to do. Gwen is my friend, and if she loves Arthur, then the least I can do for her is make sure he marries her.”

            “She doesn’t love him, though,” Merlin says softly.

            “What I saw told me otherwise,” Morgana says flatly. Her eyes have lost their sparkle, and Merlin never thought he’d find someone who hates the idea of Arthur and Gwen together as much as he does. She cannot be upset for the same reason that Merlin is, because Arthur is her half-brother, and besides, Merlin hasn’t seen anything remotely romantic between them in years, but she sounds just the way Merlin imagines he does when he talks about Arthur and Gwen so… “Gwen?” he asks.

            Morgana looks up sharply. “Is it that obvious?”

            “I know what to look for.”

            “I can imagine.”

            The two of them just look at each other for a long moment.

            “She turned him down, Morgana,” Merlin says. “They both think it was something ill-advised and in the past. They’re not getting married.”

            Morgana looks as floored as Merlin had felt when Arthur had told him. “What? But I thought…”

            “Me too,” Merlin says. “Apparently not, though.”

            “I need to speak with her,” Morgana decides. “Could you -”

            “Yes, of course.” Merlin stands up. “I’ll come back and see you tomorrow, alright? I could bring a spellbook, if you like?”

            “That would be wonderful, Merlin, thank you,” Morgana says, but she’s clearly distracted now. Merlin knows better than to stick around, and he quickly walks out the door, ready to search for Gwen.

***

            When Gwen gets back to the castle, refreshed from a short nap at home, she’s feeling just a little bit better. She’s fine being Morgana’s friend and confidante. It’s more than she should expect, really. She resolves to be happy for Morgana, whatever she chooses to do.

            Of course, as soon as Gwen slips inside the kitchens, because it’s shorter that way than going through the main gate, her mood is instantly destroyed. The knot of maids, laundresses, cooks, and other assorted servants, mostly female, in the middle of the kitchens gives her pause, but it’s not until she comes in and they stop speaking completely that she realises how bad things are. Puzzled, she goes and picks up one of the many dinner trays that the cooks set out for the castle’s nobility and goes to slip out of the kitchens, because she doesn’t have time to get involved in the castle gossip.

            She’s brought up short when she tries to leave and runs straight into Æbbe. She opens her mouth to apologise, even if she’s pretty sure it’s Æbbe’s fault for standing in the doorway, when Æbbe speaks up. “Gwen, how could you?” she asks, looking close to tears.

            Gwen frowns and runs through the events of the last day or so in her mind, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. Had she accidentally missed some work? “How could I what?”

            “You _know_ what I’m talking about,” Æbbe hisses, leaning forward. “You _turned down the king’s marriage proposal_.”

            Oh. That. “Were you _listening_?” Gwen asks, incredulous.

            Æbbe waves her off. “Of course I was, but that’s not the point. You could have become Queen, could have tried to improve things for us. Instead you turned him down, and probably broke his heart in the process.”

            Gwen’s so sick of everything. She’s sick of peoples’ assumptions, sick of the whispers and glares, sick of the idea that her personal life is something for people to speculate about. She’s not the kind of person to blow up, never has been, but this is her breaking point. “Listen, Æbbe,” she begins, voice deliberately loud. “And the rest of you too. I have told you, over and over, that I have no intention of being Queen. And if you had eavesdropped on the conversation _properly_ , you would have heard that Arthur wasn’t exactly upset when I refused.”

            Æbbe looks like she’s been slapped in the face, but she continues valiantly on. “And another thing. He said the _Lady Morgana_ made him propose to you!?”

            Gwen’s done. She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchens, tossing a “You’ll understand soon enough,” over her shoulder.

            She walks very quickly to Arthur’s chambers and then pauses outside the door. She’s breathing heavily and her entire body is shaking, the adrenaline of the encounter still coursing through her veins. She’d thought she was ready to see Morgana again, but she really, really isn’t. She can’t put it off any longer though, because she’s in charge of Morgana’s welfare, so she takes one more deep breath and walks through the door, affixing a fake smile to her face.

            Morgana’s sitting up in bed, eyes bright and looking like she’s getting healthier by the minute, but Gwen can’t bring herself to appreciate it.

            Morgana, of course, notices immediately that something’s off, because today is bound and determined to be one of the worst days of Gwen’s life. “Gwen? Is something wrong?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter and unleashing her full concerned face.

            “Everything’s fine, my lady,” Gwen says, putting the dinner tray down on the table. “Come eat, you need to regain your strength.”

            Slowly, Morgana rises from the bed, her slip of a body covered in one of the long nightdresses that Uther had never been able to bring himself to throw away. She’s still frowning, and Gwen knows immediately that Morgana doesn’t believe her. “Something is really wrong,” Morgana says, coming around the table to place a hesitant hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “You haven’t called me ‘my lady’ since I’ve come back.

            That little shoulder touch, feather light and insubstantial as it is, is all it takes for Gwen’s resolve to break. She can feel her face crumpling unattractively, and she lets out a loud sob, dropping her head and trying her best to keep the tears back.

            “Gwen?” Morgana sounds alarmed. “Gwen, please tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”

            “No,” Gwen sniffs, avoiding Morgana’s attempts to look her in the eye. “No, I just -” she can’t hold back another sob. “It’s just been a bad day.”

            “Please tell me,” Morgana begs, seizing one of Gwen’s hands. “I know I can’t help much, cooped up in this room, but surely talking about it will make it better? I don’t like seeing you like this.”

            Gwen sniffs. “Well, Arthur proposed to me, as you obviously know,” She tries not to let the bitterness creep into her voice, doesn’t entirely succeed. “And I said no, because I don’t want to be Queen and I love somebody else, but then one of the maids was listening, and she told everyone else, and now all the servants think I’m ungrateful or snobby or something, and to make it worse, Arthur said that _you_ told him to propose to me, and Æbbe heard that too, so now they know you’re back.” Gwen’s little speech doesn’t make much sense, even to her, and she’s still crying, so she imagines that it’s hard to understand her anyway, but she does feel a little better once she gets it all out.

            “You’re – You’re in love with somebody else?” Morgana asks quietly. She’s looking down at their hands, which are still entwined. “Is it Lancelot, still?”

            Gwen looks up at Morgana sharply, because she doesn’t even remember admitting that in her tearful diatribe. Not for the first time in her life, she curses her tendency to let her mouth get away from her. “No, it’s not Lancelot,” she says. “I was upset, of course, when he…died, but there wasn’t anything more than friendship between us, in the end.”

            “Merlin, then?” Morgana asks.

            Gwen actually scoffs at that one. “Merlin!? He’s in love with -” She cuts herself off, because Morgana may not even want to hear the implication that a man can love Arthur. It’s not like it’s unheard of in the kingdom, two men or two women loving each other, but it’s not exactly accepted, especially among the nobility.

            Morgana surprises her, though “Arthur, I know. Well, if it’s neither of them, then who is it? I guarantee you, Gwen, if this man you’re in love with is alive and unmarried, he would have to be mad not to fall for you.”

            Gwen blinks at her, shocked. She’s usually not the type of person to take risks like this, but it almost sounds as though… “It’s not a man,” she says.

            Morgana’s silent for a moment. “This woman, then,” she says firmly.

            Gwen looks up, catching Morgana’s eye for the first time since she’d started crying. It feels like they’ve been leading up to this moment forever, and somehow, almost impossibly, Gwen’s not afraid.

            Maybe it’s because of the wild spark of hope she can see behind Morgana’s eyes, the

one she’s positive is mirrored in her own. “It’s you, Morgana,” she says.

            Morgana’s breath hitches, and she replies “Gwen,” sounding more breathless than Gwen has ever heard her before.

            Gwen leans forward, slowly, because Morgana’s eagerness is tainted with just a hint of fear, and presses their foreheads together. “It’s always been you,” she says softly. “I was just too afraid to admit it.”

            It’s Morgana who moves, then, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

            Gwen’s never kissed a woman before, and she’s surprised to find that, physically at least, it’s not all that different from kissing men, from kissing Arthur and Merlin and Lancelot and Elric the stable boy when she was thirteen.

            Morgana’s lips feel almost the same, if a little bit softer, but it’s the feeling, starting deep in Gwen’s stomach and spreading out until no inch of her body is unaffected, the bone-deep sense of rightness and calm and the hint of lust that she cannot act on just yet, that makes this kiss, innocent as it is, the best of Gwen’s life.

            Morgana pulls away after just a second, a rare blush on her pale cheeks. “I – I love you too, Gwen,” she says. “The entire time I was away, all I could think of was you, how hurt you must have felt that I betrayed you. I’m so sorry.”

            “If you love me, why did you push Arthur at me?”

            “I just want you to be happy, and I didn’t think – well, I’m sorry about that too, anyway.” Morgana doesn’t like being vulnerable, never has, and Gwen can see that this whole sharing of feelings thing is making her uncomfortable.

            “I forgive you,” Gwen says. “Now please, eat something. I didn’t bring this tray all the way up here for my health, you know.” She smiles, the warm, genuine one that hasn’t graced her face all day, and Morgana looks grateful in return.

            As Morgana sits down and begins to eat, and Gwen takes her own seat across the table, she thinks that there is no way her life can possibly get better from this point.

***

            Arthur’s sitting in his temporary chambers, drafting up the speech that he will give to his advisers about the repeal of the magic ban. He’s decided that it should be done sooner rather than later, because the longer Morgana is hidden away, the more chance there is of someone seeing her.

            Besides, he really misses his own room.

            He’s stopped in the middle of re-writing one particular sentence for the third time when his door slams open and an out-of-breath, happy looking Merlin walks into the room.

            “Merlin, _knocking_ ,” Arthur says half-heartedly.

            Merlin waves a dismissive hand at him. “My talk with Morgana went _brilliantly_ , he says, goofy smile taking over his entire face. “I think we understand each other loads better now, and I’ve agreed to help her out with her magic as soon as she gets better.” He throws himself into the chair opposite Arthur. “Everything’s going well, isn’t it?”

            “It would be going better if you’d actually shut up and let me write this speech,” Arthur grumbles.

            Merlin perks up a little. “Speech? What speech?”

            “The one about the magic ban. I want to get it out of the way as soon as possible, deal with all the headaches it’s going to give me while the kingdom’s still relatively peaceful.”

            “What’ve you got so far?” Merlin asks, coming around the table to look over his shoulder at Arthur’s messy parchment. His eyes move over the lines quickly, and he clicks his tongue, sounding for all the world like a middle-aged mother. Without warning, he grabs both the parchment and the extra quill that Arthur keeps beside him for when he is too lazy to sharpen the old one and retires back to his side of the table, beginning to make changes right on the document.

            “You could wait until I’m finished to do that,” Arthur protests. He knows enough not to protest the actual fact that Merlin’s editing his speech, because he’s actually good at it, damn him, has a way with words and a sensitivity to the needs of the people that Arthur’s fighting-oriented education has caused him to lack.

            “Mm-hm,” Merlin says, distracted. When he gets to the end of the portion that Arthur’s already written, he starts to write himself, furiously and in that messy way he has. “Ink,” he says absently, and Arthur slides the inkwell across the table to him, watching in amusement as Merlin dips the end of the quill into it so violently that a droplet of ink splashes up and lands on the end of his nose. Merlin doesn’t appear to have noticed, he’s so focused on what he’s writing.

            After about ten minutes of this, during which time Arthur spaces out a bit, takes a little mental break from his duties while staring at Merlin’s long-fingered hands, Merlin throws down the quill in triumph. “All done.”

            Arthur holds out a hand wordlessly for the paper. Merlin rolls his eyes, but gets up off of his chair to deliver it. “Use your words, your majesty,” he complains.

            Ignoring him, Arthur scans his eyes over the parchment, using his own quill to make a few minute corrections. “It’s good, but a bit…emotional, don’t you think?”

            Merlin, who’s collapsed back in his chair, looks up. “Was that a genuine compliment there?” he quips. “I think you’re losing your touch. And of course it’s a little emotional. I do take this issue rather personally, you know.”

            “Well, nevertheless,” Arthur says, putting the paper aside for the moment. “I can’t be seen to be that personally invested in it. I’ll work on toning it down a little in the morning.” He stretches his arms upward, enjoying the first chance he’s had all day to be seriously relaxed.

            Without saying a word, Merlin gets back up and moves towards Arthur, clearly looking to help him undress.

            Tonight will mark the first time since Arthur found out about Merlin’s sorcery that this will happen, because they had stayed up so late the night before talking about it that Merlin had steadfastly refused to accompany Arthur back to his chambers to do his duties, and had slept right through breakfast time to boot.

            He really always has been a horrible manservant, but Arthur has never felt uncomfortable with him, no matter how bad he was.

            Now, though, now that Arthur actually knows the breadth and depth of Merlin’s loyalty to him, knows how many times he, as well as the rest of Camelot, would have been utterly buggered without Merlin, knows that Merlin could speak one innocent little word and bring the castle crashing down around them –

            Well. It just seems wrong for Merlin to be helping him undress. And besides, after tomorrow, once Merlin is officially recognised as the Court Sorcerer, he will not be expected to perform his old duties anymore.

            Arthur feels like he might as well get used to the idea that Merlin, bright and cheerful yet bitingly sarcastic, will no longer be the last person he sees every night before bed. “You’re going to be officially promoted tomorrow, Merlin,” Arthur says, trying for a nonchalant tone. “I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to undress me any longer.”

            Arthur swears that he can see a bit of disappointment in Merlin’s eyes, just for a second, but Merlin covers it up quickly, returning with “I wasn’t aware you knew how to get undressed by yourself, sire.”

            Arthur smiles, despite himself. “You would be surprised,” he says, very seriously. “In all honesty, though, I really do need to start looking for a new manservant. And we should decide the manner of your chambers, as well.”

            Merlin looks dismayed. “What do you mean? Can’t I just stay with Gaius?”  
            “Merlin,” Arthur says. “You are going to be the _Court Sorcerer_. You are going to be important, Gods help us all, and you are going to need your own space to do…whatever it is that you are going to be doing. You cannot continue to stay in a tiny room in the physician’s quarters.”

            “But -” Merlin begins.

            “No buts,” Arthur replies sternly. “We’re going to do this _properly_.”

            Merlin cocks his head to the side, in that way that he does when he’s about to read Arthur better than anyone else can. Arthur is suddenly uncomfortable, and he has to fight not to squirm in his chair.

            “Are you getting weird about this whole thing?” Merlin asks.

            “I have no idea what you mean.”

            “You _are_!” Merlin sounds almost gleeful, though his face is still serious. “You’re doing the thing where you second guess every bit of our relationship because of the magic.”

            “Not _every bit_ ,” Arthur argues. “It’s just – I’ve been a bit…horrible to you sometimes, and most of that time I was only joking, really, but I should have taken you a bit more seriously, before. And I’m sorry.”

            By the end of his little speech, Arthur is carefully looking everywhere except Merlin. His gaze is forced back, though, when Merlin falls back into his chair with a heavy thump, eyes wide. “I think I may actually die of shock,” he says. “A compliment, an admission of guilt, and an apology, all within five minutes? Are you feeling ill?”

            “Merlin, I’m being serious,” Arthur says, annoyed.

            “You shouldn’t be.” Abandoning his dramatics, Merlin comes around the table to place a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I know that you were joking most of the time. I like to think I know you pretty well, actually. And this? This is how we work. It’s how we’ve always worked, and the only thing that’s changed is that you’re now aware of something that’s been there the whole time. You have nothing to apologise for, not really, and I certainly don’t want anything between us to change.”

            Arthur finds it hard to resist Merlin on a pretty much daily basis. He’s irresistible when he’s sarcastic, he’s irresistible when he’s clumsy, he’s irresistible when he’s pissed off. Somehow, though, Arthur thinks that he may be the most irresistible when he’s like this, all open and soft eyed, honesty written all over his face in a way that makes it difficult to believe that he could have hidden his magic from Arthur for so long.

            Arthur _should_ pull away from Merlin’s touch. He _should_ tear his eyes away from Merlin’s face, banish all thoughts of Merlin from his head, shut down this conversation before it goes any further.

            Then again, he _should_ also find a nice woman to marry, have plenty of little heirs. He _should_ reinstate the policy of only accepting those of noble birth into the ranks of Camelot’s knights.

            He _should_ declare Merlin a traitor to the kingdom, and burn him at the stake.

            Arthur’s tendency to not do as he should, to follow his own agency rather than that of his father, used to be one of the things he liked least about himself. Now, though, he thinks that it’s one of his very best qualities.

            So, of course, he doesn’t do any of the things that he _should_ do in this situation. Instead, he meets Merlin’s eyes and slides one of his own hands up to cover the one Merlin still has on his shoulder.

            Merlin sucks in a breath, looking unsure. “Arthur?” he asks.

            It’s like they’re standing on a precipice of this thing that’s been between them for as long as Arthur can remember. All the excuses Arthur has always had not to get involved, not to let himself fall, seem insignificant, now.

            What is more significant is the complete shock on Merlin’s face, the look that says he’d never even expected Arthur to touch him in this way.

            Arthur is struck, suddenly, by the fact that Merlin _doesn’t know_. He has always thought he’s been glaringly obvious, embarrassingly obvious, even, and, given how well Merlin knows him, he’d thought that Merlin had surely picked up on it.

            This, though, along with the fact that Merlin had, up until today, thought that Arthur was still hung up on Guinevere, shows Arthur just how wrong he has been.

            Ordinarily, Arthur loves getting one up on Merlin, because Merlin can be embarrassingly intelligent at the strangest of times. But right now, Arthur’s just done. Done with the games, done with the pretending, done with telling himself that he can’t have what he wants.

            He does a half turn in his chair and brings the hand that’s not still on Merlin’s own up to Merlin’s face, stroking down along his sharp cheekbone. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut in response to the touch, so responsive, his long eyelashes creating a pretty sweep on his cheeks.

            Arthur can hardly stand it. There’s still something holding him back, just a thin little string of doubt, because what if Merlin doesn’t actually want this? He thinks Merlin does, thinks he has seen Merlin’s eyes lingering on him just a bit too long, felt Merlin’s hands tremble when he’s helping Arthur get undressed. But what if he’s wrong?

            “Merlin?” he breathes.

            Merlin opens his eyes, and his pupils are blown wider than Arthur has ever seen them. All of Arthur’s doubts are summarily shattered, and suddenly he can’t get his hands on Merlin fast enough.

            He stands up from his chair in one quick, smooth move, and turns to face Merlin, pulling him so he’s flush against Arthur’s body. Merlin still looks hesitant, like he can’t believe what’s happening or he might be misinterpreting the situation, somehow, and Arthur hates that. It’s so out of character for Merlin, cheeky, bold, Merlin, that it’s alarming.

            Arthur’s never exactly been good at communication, never been good at telling people how he feels. So instead, making sure to move slowly enough that Merlin can stop him if he really doesn’t want this, Arthur leans in and kisses him.

            The effect on Merlin is instantaneous. He releases a soft moan into Arthur’s lips, and his arms come up to circle around Arthur’s neck.

            He’s clearly inexperienced, clumsy but eager, and Arthur would be annoyed if it were anyone else. But because it’s Merlin, it ends up being endearing rather than irritating, and Arthur will take the saliva and the frankly alarming amount of teeth if it means he gets Merlin.

            He would like to keep his tongue, though, so he eases off a little, trying to ease the speed and desperation of their kisses.

            Merlin seems to relax a little in response, a bit of the nervous energy seeping out of him, and Arthur takes the opportunity to wind his own arms around Merlin’s waist, pulling him closer.

            Merlin releases another small moan, and Arthur takes that opportunity to pull back, just a bit, because he feels like they need to talk about this. It’s difficult, though, because when he opens his eyes, Merlin is pouting back at him with swollen lips and darkened eyes, and it’s all Arthur can do to keep his composure and not pull Merlin right back in.

            “Why’d you stop?” Merlin asks, pushing his lower lip out even further. Arthur wants to bite it.

            “Don’t you think we need to talk about this?” Arthur replies.

            “We’ve been doing nothing _but_ talking for the past day and a half,” Merlin complains. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m in favour of continuing the kissing.”

            For someone who had been so nervous just a few moments ago, Merlin seems very confident now, looking at Arthur hungrily. And really, who is Arthur to deny Merlin what he wants?

            Moving his hands down to Merlin’s hips, Arthur begins pulling the both of them in the direction of his bed, connecting their lips once more. Merlin comes with him easily, but once Arthur flops down in bed, pulling Merlin on top of him, Merlin backs off, a small frown on his face. “I said kissing, Arthur, I’m not sure…” he trails off, and Arthur can feel his face heating up, because he’d just assumed that Merlin would want more, when of course Merlin wouldn’t be ready, of course Merlin wouldn’t want…

            Arthur’s self-depreciating thoughts abruptly stop when he notices the smirk playing around the edges of Merlin’s lips. “You little _shit_ ,” he growls, as Merlin muffles an amused snort into Arthur’s chest. “You had me worried!”

            “Your _face_ ,” Merlin wheezes, still hiding his own, his shoulders shaking with mirth. It should make it awkward, Arthur thinks, because he’s always viewed sex as a very serious sort of activity, but Merlin’s amusement _fits_ , somehow, and Arthur finds that he’s let go of some of the tension he hadn’t been aware he was holding onto.

            Using a move that he’d been taught in his wrestling lessons as a child, Arthur flips the both of them over so that Merlin is spread out on the bed beneath him, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. Arthur doesn’t like the smug look on Merlin’s face, so he takes it upon himself to wipe it away, capturing Merlin’s lips once again.

            While Merlin had sort of led their previous kisses, Arthur takes this one over with ease, nibbling on Merlin’s full lower lip until his mouth falls open easily, allowing Arthur’s tongue inside.

            Pleased with how Merlin seems to submit to the kiss without any protest, Arthur decides to push his luck just that little bit further and bring his hands up to cup Merlin’s face, easily supporting himself on his elbows. Glad that he finally gets to touch, Arthur runs one hand over Merlin’s cheek then down to his long, slender neck, simultaneously deepening their kiss.

            Merlin breaks away, panting. “Clothes, off, now,” he manages to say, before leaning back in for another kiss. Unsurprisingly, given Merlin’s apparent lack of experience, Arthur can feel Merlin growing hard against his thigh, and he allows himself a bit of triumph, of pride that he can affect Merlin so easily.

            Rising up onto his knees, Arthur takes the opportunity to pull his tunic off. He’s expecting Merlin to make another undressing joke, or at least make a move to take off his own clothes, but Merlin seems to be hypnotised by Arthur’s newly bared skin, despite the fact that he’s seen it every day for years.

            “Are you alright, Merlin?” Arthur asks, slipping back into the brash tone that he uses when teasing Merlin. “Surely you’re used to the sight of my chest by now?”

            Merlin doesn’t rise to the bait, choosing instead to lift one hand and smooth it over Arthur’s chest, right over the patch of blond hair in the middle, and down over his stomach. Arthur shivers at the touch and Merlin looks up to meet his eyes. “Maybe I am, but I’ve never been able to touch before,” he explains, his smile a little shy.

            Arthur smiles helplessly down at him, but the moment is broken when Merlin reaches up, lightning-quick, and tweaks one of Arthur’s nipples.

            Arthur lets out a rather unmanly yelp, because his nipples have always been sensitive. “Oh, you are going to pay for that,” he says, moving to fumble with the hem of Merlin’s tunic.

            Merlin simply lays back and quirks an eyebrow at him, an air of affected nonchalance about him.

            Looks like it’s time for Arthur to fight dirty.

            He finishes removing Merlin’s tunic, but, instead of either removing his trousers or going back in for another kiss, he aligns his hips with Merlin’s and grinds down, _hard_.

            Merlin gives this shocked little moan, the kind that almost sounds like it has been punched out of him “ _Arthur_.”

            It’s Arthur’s turn to smirk, and he repeats the motion of his hips, because he thinks he could easily become addicted to the pretty noises that Merlin makes.

            Merlin’s eyes flutter shut, and he lifts his own hips up in counterpoint to Arthur’s. It feels amazing, the slow burn of arousal deep in Arthur’s stomach, and he wants to draw this out, wants to make it last and last, because it feels like he’s been waiting for this his entire life.

            Merlin seems to have other ideas, though. His hands begin to scrabble uselessly at the front of Arthur’s trousers, until Arthur takes pity on him and removes them himself, pulling his undergarments down at the same time.

            As a manservant, Merlin’s seen Arthur naked plenty of times. However, Arthur’s never gotten to see Merlin naked, and suddenly, all he wants to do is correct this grievous inequality.

            He pulls the rest of Merlin’s clothes off as well and sits back on his heels, taking the opportunity to look his fill.

            Merlin’s body is so different from Arthur’s, gangly and all limbs while Arthur is compact and muscled. Merlin would never make it as a knight, it’s true, but Arthur can’t help but think that his body is stunning, just the way it is, the shadows of the darkened room falling over the dips and curves of his torso.

            “Are you just going to stare at me, or are you actually going to do something?” Merlin complains, squirming slightly under Arthur’s gaze.

            “Patience is a virtue, Merlin,” Arthur says, the retort coming out almost automatically. He hesitates. “What…what do you want to do?” Even though Merlin had been joking, earlier, when he’d said he wasn’t quite sure he was ready, Arthur can’t help but be concerned, because the last thing he wants is to pressure Merlin into something he doesn’t want to do.

            “Anything. Everything,” Merlin says simply, and Arthur really shouldn’t have worried. Merlin isn’t exactly known for doing things he doesn’t want to do.

            Arthur looks down at Merlin’s body again, laid out for him like a banquet, and he almost can’t decide what he wants to do first. His eyes fall upon Merlin’s hard cock, and all indecision vanishes. He wants to taste.

            He starts out by kissing his way down Merlin’s throat, because he knows from experience how overwhelming it can be to have someone skip immediately to the blowjobs. There’s also a purely selfish motive, though: he wants to mark up the white skin of Merlin’s neck, make it obvious to everyone that he is taken.

            The first time Arthur nips, just gently, Merlin twitches a little. Arthur suppresses a smirk, because he loves how damn responsive Merlin is, loves how obvious it is that Merlin is enjoying every second of this. Alternating little bites with gentle licking and sucking, Arthur creates a bruise right in the place where Merlin’s neck meets his shoulder, not satisfied until the mark is coin-sized.

            “Possessive bastard,” Merlin says, but he’s not making any attempt to stop Arthur. Arthur takes pity on him, though, and begins to move lower, kissing over the planes of Merlin’s chest, stopping only to flick his tongue over one hard nipple.

            Merlin’s hips buck up at that, and, much as Arthur would love to continue teasing, the feeling of Merlin’s cock against his belly is enough to remind him of his end goal.

            Kissing down over Merlin’s stomach, Arthur reaches Merlin’s sharp hips and spends a few moments there, licking and sucking on the wings of bone until Merlin’s hips are constantly shifting beneath him, their movements aborted by the arm Arthur has slung low across Merlin’s belly.

            “Arthur,” Merlin whines, panting so hard it sounds almost painful. “Stop bloody teasing, _please_.”

            Arthur considers it for a moment, letting Merlin squirm, before he decides to take pity. He moves down a little more on the bed and spreads Merlin’s legs. He takes Merlin’s cock in one hand, giving it a little stroke before leaning in to place a little kiss on the head.

            Merlin throws an arm over his eyes. “Arthur,” he groans.

            Arthur likes the fact that he’s seemingly reduced Merlin to a state where the only word he remembers is Arthur’s name. He’d sort of like that to happen all the time, although the words ‘please’ and ‘yes’ would also be acceptable.

            Wrapping his hand around the base of Merlin’s cock, gripping firmly but not squeezing, Arthur takes the entire head in his mouth, bobbing up and down in a few slow motions to prepare both of them for what’s coming.

            When he feels ready, Arthur relaxes his throat muscles and takes Merlin down in one smooth slide. Merlin lets out a stifled yell, and his hips immediately try to jerk up, stopped only by Arthur’s arm.

            Arthur begins to build up into a rhythm, pulling almost all the way off and flicking the head with his tongue on the upstroke, using steady suction on the downstroke, all the while moving his hand over the part of the shaft that doesn’t fit in his mouth.

            Merlin’s constantly squirming and making choked-off noises, now, and Arthur can tell that he’s not going to last much longer. His own dick is aching from the lack of attention during such an intensely hot situation, but right now, he’s focusing on Merlin, wanting to get him off before taking care of his own needs.

            He’s stopped, though, by Merlin pushing almost frantically at his shoulders until he lets Merlin’s cock slide out of his mouth and releases some of the pressure on Merlin’s hips.

            Merlin looks absolutely _wrecked_ , blush spread over his face and reaching halfway down his chest, hair sticking up from a combination of sweat and the way he’s been thrashing his head around on the pillow, eyes dark and wild.

            “Is something wrong?” Arthur asks, ignoring the ache in his throat.

            “No,” Merlin says breathlessly. “I just want you inside me.”

            “Gods,” Arthur chokes out. “Really?”

            “No, I’m messing with you,” Merlin rolls his eyes, regaining his coherence and composure with each second Arthur’s not touching him. “Yes, really. You do know what you’re doing, right?”

            Arthur scowls at him heavily. “Or course I know what I’m doing,” he says, reaching for the bottle of oil he keeps on his bedside table, allegedly to relax his muscles (but mostly for this very reason). “Don’t doubt me, I am your king.”

            “I think that excuse stopped working when you decided to put your mouth all over me,” Merlin says, eyes trained on where Arthur is drizzling some of the oil over his fingers. “Besides, I could turn you into a bug, if I wanted to.”

            “I rather think you wouldn’t want to, at least right now,” Arthur says. He likes the banter, it keeps him from focusing on the throbbing in his dick as he pulls Merlin’s legs over his shoulders for better access.

            He runs one oil-slicked finger around Merlin’s hole, enjoying the way Merlin loses his breath above him. Uncharacteristically, Merlin doesn’t respond to Arthur’s taunt, probably too busy concentrating on what’s to come. Arthur can feel where his legs have tensed up over his shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to rub lightly at the insides of Merlin’s thighs with his non-oiled hand, remembering just how nervous he’d been his own first time.

            When Merlin finally relaxes a little, Arthur returns his attention to Merlin’s hole, gently pushing his index finger inside.

            Merlin’s still so tight around him, nervous as hell, so Arthur just stays there, unmoving, allowing Merlin to adjust. In any other situation, he’d make a joke, and that might even make Merlin feel more comfortable, given their relationship, but he can’t bring himself to take the risk, can’t bring himself to possibly make Merlin feel bad at this time.

            “All right?” he asks instead, looking up at Merlin’s face.

            “Fine,” Merlin says. “Feels kind of weird, though.”

            “Give it a minute,” Arthur replies, voice soft, and he begins to pump his finger in and out, slowly but confidently. When Merlin feels sufficiently relaxed, he tucks a second finger inside and searches for Merlin’s prostate, giving it a light press when he finds it.

            Merlin’s eyes, which have been closed, fly open as he gasps. “Oh,” he says, wiggling his hips a little. “So that’s why people do this.”

            Arthur smirks, feeling a little more like he’s on solid ground now that Merlin is enjoying himself again. “Good, yeah?” he asks, and curls his fingers up again.

            “Fuck,” Merlin moans. “More, please.”

            Now that Arthur’s been given permission, he sets himself to the task at hand, focusing on stretching and preparing Merlin. Merlin keeps making these drugged little noises, different from the ones he made when Arthur was kissing him or sucking him, but just as pretty, and Arthur would love to draw this out but he feels like if he doesn’t get inside of Merlin now, he’s going to die.

            Merlin seems to agree. “Arthur, now, I’m ready, _please_ ,” he says. His long fingers are flexing and relaxing in Arthur’s sheets.

            Arthur pulls his fingers out with a wet sucking sound and fumbles around for the bottle of oil, desperation making him sluggish and clumsy. When he finds it, he spreads entirely too much over his cock, but can’t bring himself to care about the way the oil is getting all over the bed.

            Lining himself up with Merlin’s stretched hole and letting Merlin’s legs drop from his shoulders, Arthur looks up one more time, his eyes locking with Merlin’s. There’s no more hesitation there, a strict contrast to earlier, and he nods, urging Arthur on.

            Arthur reaches one of his hands up and untangles Merlin’s fingers from the sheets, lacing their fingers together instead. When he’s got Merlin’s hand held tightly in his own, he pushes in, slowly and carefully.

            It takes a great deal of effort for Arthur to go as slowly as he feels Merlin needs, because every single one of Arthur’s instincts are demanding for him to just jerk his hips forward, to start fucking in without any regard to Merlin’s well-being. He’s rather well-versed in holding himself back, though, so he simply grits his teeth and thinks of Willddeoren and being stabbed in the chest and his childhood crush on Morgana and manages to keep his hips still, allowing Merlin time to adjust.

            Merlin’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open in an o shape. He looks like he’s having trouble catching his breath, and Arthur squeezes his hand to comfort him. Merlin squeezes back, and his eyes fall shut, the tension slowly draining out of his body. “You can move,” he says after a long moment.

            “Are you sure?” Arthur asks.

            “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Arthur, _fuck me_ ,” Merlin snaps, and Arthur’s hips immediately start moving, because, much as it shouldn’t, Merlin ordering him around really turns him on.

            After a few jerky strokes, Arthur consciously forces himself to slow down a little, making his movements smoother, and begins to search for the right angle to hit Merlin’s prostate again, before he can lose himself in the pleasure. When Merlin lets out a shaky moan and his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, Arthur figures he’s found it and allows himself to keep to the angle, his strokes speeding up as he finally lets himself focus on chasing his own orgasm.

            “Arthur,” Merlin gasps out. “Harder, _please_.”

            Arthur complies, hypnotised by this moment, by the way Merlin’s monopolising all of his senses, by the way he’s lifting his own hips to chase Arthur’s dick when he pulls away slightly, the needy noises falling out of his mouth, the way he’s so _uninhibited_ , giving Arthur feedback on every little move he makes.

            It is, without a doubt, the single most erotic experience of Arthur’s life, and he feels himself getting close to the edge embarrassingly quickly. From the increase in volume and pitch of Merlin’s moans, though, he’s close as well, and Arthur reaches down to clumsily take Merlin’s dick in hand while trying not to slow his hips down. Merlin makes his loudest noise yet at first contact, and Arthur wastes no time in jacking him, allowing the precome leaking from the tip of Merlin’s cock to ease the process along.

            It takes less than a minute of this treatment for Merlin’s entire body to lock up and his mouth to open in a silent scream as he comes between them. Arthur finds the fact that, in contrast to how loud he is while being fucked, Merlin is completely silent when he comes to be so hot that he doesn’t take much longer to follow Merlin over the edge.

            When Arthur’s recovered the presence of mind to do the responsible thing and pull out, Merlin has already relaxed completely, his body going boneless and taking up a good portion of the bed. Arthur wants to make a crack about Merlin making himself at home, but he wants to kiss Merlin more, so he does, keeping it light and gentle.

            Merlin’s arms wind around Arthur’s neck and they just kiss for a long moment, allowing their breathing and heart rates to slow to normal levels. When Arthur pulls away, it’s only to flop down next to Merlin, shoving him over a little so that he can actually have enough room.

            Merlin says something that Arthur can’t quite make out, and Arthur’s about to ask him to repeat himself when he realises that all the evidence of their coupling, all the come and sweat and all around wetness has disappeared, both from their bodies and from the sheets.

            “That’s it. I’m keeping you,” Arthur decides.

            Merlin turns to face him, slow and lazy. “Don’t I have a say in this?” he asks, eyes crinkling into little half-moons.

            “You wouldn’t have it any other way and you know it,” Arthur says, confident.

            Merlin rolls his eyes, but the fact that he kisses Arthur right after reassures Arthur that he’s correct.

***

            It’s a few hours after Morgana and Gwen kissed for the first time, and now they’re just lying next to each other in Morgana’s bed.

            Had it been two years ago, before Morgana was kidnapped, she’s absolutely certain that she and Gwen wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss. Morgana’s had a lifetime of repression, of the idea that her worth as a person is tied up in her virginity and, ever since she was old enough to realise how _wrong_ that was, she’s been actively trying to rebel against it.

            Unfortunately, the entirety of Camelot had known who Morgana was, and had known how Uther would react if he had ever learned of someone despoiling his ward, so, even when Morgana had been able to escape from Uther’s gaze for a significant amount of time, no one would ever take the risk of doing more than kissing with her.

            Then, the kidnapping had occurred, and Morgana had spent a whole two years living in constant pain and fear, and watching every person she had ever loved come to the conclusion that she was evil.

            Though she’s trying her best to hide it, Morgana’s confidence had been absolutely destroyed by Morgause, and the idea of having sex with Gwen right now is terrifying.

            Gwen, sweet as she is, hasn’t attempted to push Morgana any further than their first kiss, hasn’t even tried to initiate a second, perhaps sensing how afraid Morgana is.

            And, though she should be grateful, though she should take the out that Gwen is clearly offering her, Morgana can’t help the niggling little voice in the back of her head that’s reminding her of how her curves are gone, how her face is sunken, how her hair is ragged and uneven.

            Her beauty is gone, and she can’t help but think that must be the reason why Gwen is simply lying beside her so sweetly, holding her hand and being careful not to touch her anywhere else.

            Morgana looks down at where their arms are lying next to each other, above their joined hands. Gwen’s is round and shapely, narrowing down to slender wrists and hands that are work-roughened but lovely.

            Morgana’s, on the other hand, is painfully thin, the bones at the sides of her wrist jutting out so far that they look like they’re going to break through her paper skin. Her fingernails are ragged and unkempt, because Morgause had not provided her with any way of filing them down, and there are cuts and bruises and scabs all over her hands and forearms, the result of having to feel her way around her cell in the darkness.

            Gwen sees where Morgana is looking and strokes a finger over the back of her hand to catch her attention. “Are you alright?” she asks, and her voice, always soft, is full of a tenderness that Morgana has never heard before.

            “I’m _fine_ ,” Morgana bites out, because she cannot deal with Gwen being so lovely inside and out while she, herself, is a mess of bruises and bones and scars.

            “You’re not,” Gwen replies, tipping Morgana’s head back with one hand to look into her eyes. “You’re never this quiet.”

            The last thing Morgana wants is for Gwen to find out just how fucked up she really is, but Gwen’s dark eyes are reproachful and a little sad, and Morgana never wants to deny her anything. “I guess I’m just…regretting the loss of my beauty, is all,” she gives a little snort. “Stupid, really, when I should just be thinking about how glad I am to be alive and back home.”

            “Today was the first time you’ve looked in the mirror for a while, wasn’t it?” Gwen asks.

            Morgana shakes her head. “I haven’t looked in the mirror yet,” she confesses. “Haven’t even gotten out of bed. But even if I didn’t know that such a long time in captivity must have affected my looks, I can see it on all of your faces.”

            “What do you mean?” Gwen asks, frowning. “You’re still beautiful, Morgana, I haven’t thought otherwise for a second -”

            “Maybe not,” Morgana interrupts. “But I can see the shock, the sadness. Every time you look at me. Every time Arthur, or Merlin, or Gaius looked at me. There must be something that’s making you all go so…so _wistful_ when you look at me, and what else could it be but my looks?” Morgana takes Gwen’s silence as encouragement and continues. “Besides, I can run my fingers through my hair and see how choppy it is. I can see the state of my hands, or my legs. The only thing I haven’t seen yet is my face, and my imagination’s good enough for me on that count.”

            Gwen regains her voice. “You look different, of course you do,” she says. “And the reason we look so sad is because it’s obvious that you’ve been hurt, that you’ve been suffering. We don’t like seeing that. It’s not that we think you’re ugly.”

            Morgana looks at Gwen, pretty Gwen with her full lips and pulled back curls and the sweet little beauty mark by her nose, and thinks about how Gwen never has time to try and look pretty, about how, even when there are special events at the castle, Gwen still has to work and cannot focus on her appearance. Even given that fact, even when she’s dirty and sweaty and exhausted from a long day, Gwen has always been far more beautiful than Morgana, who had always had hours of free time to dedicate to her appearance. Morgana had always had creams to make her skin look whiter and blemish-free, hot irons to curl her hair and pretty little jewels to adorn it with, cosmetics to slather on her lips and eyelids, and she’s never been as beautiful as Gwen.

            When Morgana was younger, before she was won over by Gwen, she had been jealous, had thought that no maidservant should be allowed to outshine a noble lady. When Gwen had first been assigned as Morgana’s lady’s maid, nearly ten years ago now, Morgana had treated her unkindly, made snide comments about her, created more work for her to do on purpose, and Gwen had never complained, had never rolled her eyes or told tales about Morgana behind her back.

            Now, for the first time, as Gwen looks at Morgana, so desperate to reassure her and make her feel better, Morgana understands that Gwen’s beauty has never been purely physical.

            Even if Gwen was homely, her kindness, her willingness to help others, her good heart, all would have shone through her face and made her beautiful.

            And that’s why Morgana has never been as lovely as Gwen, because she’s just a silly little girl, spoiled and selfish and capable of pure cruelty.

            In this moment, right now, Morgana is ashamed of herself, and she feels that maybe she deserves everything Morgause had done to her.

            Apparently, Morgana has been silent too long for Gwen’s liking. “Come here,” she says, holding one hand out to Morgana, palm up.

            Unsure, Morgana takes Gwen’s hand and allows herself to be pulled to her feet for the first time in what feels like forever. Predictably enough, she has a bit of trouble with it at first: her legs buckle beneath her, and she feels like a newborn foal as she fights with her trembling legs to keep balanced.

            Luckily, Gwen’s there, patient and steady, helping Morgana not to fall. Before, when Morgana was at a normal weight, she thinks that Gwen may have had difficulties in helping her, because Morgana’s got several inches on Gwen. Now, though, Gwen handles Morgana with ease, nearly single-handedly supporting her weight until her legs feel strong enough to walk.

            “I’m alright,” Morgana gasps, and Gwen steps away, though she remains close enough that she could easily catch Morgana if she began to fall again.

            She doesn’t, though, and after a cautious second of staring, Gwen beckons her to move closer. Morgana obeys, powerless against the beseeching look on Gwen’s face. When Morgana reaches Gwen, Gwen reaches up a little to grab Morgana’s shoulders and spins her around in one smooth move, so she’s looking at her reflection in Arthur’s mirror.

            It’s even worse than she had thought. Her eyes and skin are dull and lifeless, her lips dry and cracked, her features sunken. Beneath the torn dress she’s still wearing, her body looks absolutely _disgusting_ , bruised and scraped and scarred and thin, so damn thin. The careless way Morgause had chopped her hair off for use in her spells has caused what’s left of it to stick up at odd angles, and it’s so filthy and matted that it’s stiff and doesn’t move around her shoulders in the way it should.

            “Oh _Gods”_ , Morgana chokes out, turning away from the hateful reflection to bury her face in Gwen’s shoulder. She has to stoop a little to accomplish it, but she can’t bring herself to care about the discomfort.

            Gwen’s arms come up around her, and Morgana stifles a little sob. She feels foolish, shallow and ridiculous that after all she’s been through, it’s the negative effects on her looks that breaks her.

            Gwen begins to gently rub Morgana’s back, up and down, and Morgana has to suppress a shudder, because she knows that Gwen can probably feel the jut of her spine through the dress.

            “Would you like to take a bath?” Gwen asks.

            “Gods, _please_ ,” is Morgana’s immediate reply.

            Gwen steps back. “Give me an hour, and I’ll have it ready for you,” she says.

            Morgana frowns. “I don’t like the idea of you hauling all that water up here,” she says. “I would magic it up, if I knew how.”

            “I suppose I could get Merlin to do it,” says Gwen.

            Morgana nods her approval, and Gwen gives a little smile. “Get back in bed, then,” she scolds good-naturedly. “I’ll be back in just a bit.”

            Morgana gladly obeys, because her legs are getting tired.

            With another little smile, Gwen leaves the room, and Morgana lays her head back down on the pillow, thinking she’ll maybe get a little sleep in the meantime.

***

            Merlin’s reclining on Arthur’s bed, feeling lazy and fucked out and wonderful, when there’s a knock on the door.

            From where he’s lying next to Merlin, almost entirely asleep (apparently the stereotype about men and sex is true, at least for some), Arthur lifts his head. “Wassat?” he slurs, blond hair falling in his face.

            Merlin can’t help but give him a fond smile. “One of your subjects at the door, My Lord,” he says mockingly.

            Arthur gives him a half-hearted sleepy glare. “You’re going to be even more lazy and insufferable now, aren’t you?”

            “Would you expect anything else?”

            “I suppose not,” looking a bit more alert now, Arthur pushes a bit of Merlin’s hair back from his forehead. Merlin can’t help but nuzzle into it like a contented cat. “It’s a good thing you won’t be my manservant anymore, really. You wouldn’t get a thing done.”

            There’s another knock, louder this time, and then Gwen’s voice calls softly through the door. “Arthur? Are you there?”

            Both Arthur and Merlin sit up, because if Gwen’s here, it means that it’s important. Even before, when Gwen and Arthur had their romance (and Merlin feels phenomenally stupid for thinking that was still going on), Gwen had never come to Arthur’s rooms at night.

            “Just a moment, Guinevere,” Arthur calls, his voice equally as soft, mindful of the possibility of being overheard. He gets out of bed and begins to pull his discarded clothes on.

            Merlin supposes that, as he’s still Arthur’s manservant for the next day, he should really be the one to open the door. But he’s so comfortable, and he has such a nice view, and he’s really not planning on moving until he’s forced, so.

            When Arthur’s decent again, he cracks the door open just a bit and sticks his head out, conversing with Gwen in an undertone. While once this would cause Merlin nearly overpowering jealousy, now he’s just concerned that something’s wrong with Morgana. He stares at the back of Arthur’s head, trying in vain to gauge the mood of the conversation without seeing either of their faces.

            After a moment, Arthur pulls his head back inside, leaving the door open just a crack but not inviting Gwen in. “Merlin,” he calls. “We need your help.”

            Merlin supposes he’s being forced now. He gets up, ignoring the slight twinge in the lower half of his body (he could get rid of it, probably, if he wanted. He doesn’t, though, because he likes it, though he would never tell Arthur that), and begins to dress himself.

            It takes a good few minutes to locate his breeches, because apparently Arthur gets a bit overzealous in launching clothing all over the place while in the throes of passion.

            When he’s finally found them, lying in a heap right next to the wardrobe, he pulls them on and accompanies Arthur into the hall.

            Gwen’s still in her work clothes, late as it is, and she looks tired, but happy. Merlin’s instantly relieved, because it means Morgana is alright. “Gwen? What do you need?” he asks.

            Gwen’s looking between Merlin and Arthur with a knowing look on her face, and Merlin is suddenly aware how very obvious it must be what they were just up to. Merlin can feel his face going red, and he wishes he’d thought to splash water on his face or fix his hair or something.

            Gwen, bless her, is too polite to say something in front of Arthur, but Merlin has the feeling he’s going to do a lot of talking when Gwen gets him alone.

            “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” Gwen says. “But Morgana really wants a bath, and since I can’t trust any of the other servants to help me bring up the water…”

            “No problem,” Merlin says, because learning to conjure up hot water for Arthur’s baths was one of the first things he had taught himself. He had really hated lugging those heavy buckets up the stairs to Arthur’s room.

            “How long have you been magicking up my baths, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

            “I think I did it by hand…Once?” Merlin shrugs. “Water is heavy, and I had better things to do.”

            “Like _not_ clean my chambers or polish my sword?”

            Merlin can’t help himself. “You should know how good I am at polishing swords, Sire.”

            Arthur turns beet red and stammers a bit.

            “ _Well_ ,” Gwen interjects, blushing herself and looking far less amused with the situation. “We don’t have all night. Come on, Merlin.”

            Arthur recovers himself. “Wait. Guinevere?”

            Gwen turns around expectantly.

            “Can you let Morgana know that I’ll be repealing the magic ban tomorrow?” Arthur asks. “I understand if she doesn’t want to appear before the court so soon, but I’m going to tell everyone she’s back, so she won’t have to hide anymore.”

            Gwen smiles. “Of course, Arthur.”

            Arthur disappears back into the room as Gwen and Merlin walk away. Gwen waits until they’re a good two hallways away before she gives Merlin a sidelong little smirk. “So?” she asks.

            Merlin plays dumb. “So what?”

            Gwen pushes his upper arm lightly. “You _know_ what I’m talking about. You and Arthur!”

            Merlin fights, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the blush off his face. There should really be a spell for that. “You can’t be _too_ surprised,” he says. “Apparently I was very obvious.”

            “ _You_ were,” Gwen says. “It’s just that I didn’t think that Arthur…not that you aren’t attractive or desirable or anything -”

            Merlin cuts her off before she can get too off-topic. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I didn’t expect him to feel the same way either. Then again, up until a few hours ago, I thought he was in love with _you_ , so.”

            Gwen smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little. “I’m happy for you,” she says softly. “You’re good for each other.”

            There’s something about the smile on Gwen’s face, the way she’s stepping just a little lighter than earlier, the obvious joy in her voice, that alerts Merlin to the fact that he and Arthur aren’t the only, or even the primary, reason for her happiness. “And what about you?” he asks. “I see that spring in your step, what’s got you so pleased?”

            Gwen giggles a little. “Morgana,” she says simply, her expression telling the story that her words do not.

            Merlin can’t help but smile back. “Congratulations!”

            “You don’t sound surprised,” Gwen says. She’s obviously trying to sound peevish, but is too happy for it to work. “Unlike you, I don’t think I was that obvious.”

            “You weren’t,” Merlin assures her. “Morgana…may have said something when I was speaking to her earlier.”

            “Really,” Gwen stops them short, just outside the turn into the corridor that contains Morgana’s temporary rooms. “What did she say?”

            “It was more what she implied, really,” Merlin says, putting his hand on Gwen’s upper back to gently urge her forwards. “There was some commiseration, over the whole you-and-Arthur-thing.”

            “Gods, if I could go back in time…” Gwen grumbles as they reach the door. She stops again, hand on the doorknob. “Wait, could you actually do that?”

            “Probably?” Merlin says. “It would take a while, and there would always be the risk that I would accidentally send you too far, but I don’t see why not.” He frowns. “You don’t really want to do that, do you?”

            Gwen shakes her head as she opens the door. “Just a figure of speech, Merlin.” She peeks her head around the door, like Arthur had done earlier. “Morgana? Merlin’s here.”

            Merlin hears Morgana’s permission to let him in, and he and Gwen walk inside, shutting the door behind them.

            Morgana is positioned in much the same way that she had been when Merlin had left her, but, in counter to Gwen, she looks less happy than she had. She’s obviously trying, puts on a smile that’s too wide on her emaciated face, but it’s obviously an act, and Merlin immediately understands that he needs to get his job done and leave Gwen and Morgana alone to fix whatever’s wrong.

            “Hi, Morgana,” he says, stepping forward. “I thought you might like to see me do this? It’s a little late at night for me to teach you the actual magic part, but you can learn the words to some spells at least.”

            Morgana’s smile gets a little bit less strained. “I’d like that.”

            Merlin nods to her and goes to the closet where Arthur’s tub is kept when not in use. He’s done this a million times before, and it’s easy to imagine that he’s drawing a bath for Arthur, and soon he’ll be fidgeting in place while he tries to simultaneously sneak peeks of Arthur undressing and look away entirely.

            He drags the tub out to the middle of the room, where Morgana can easily see it from her bed. He concentrates a little, focusing on the well of magic inside of him, stretches a hand out in front of him, and says “ _Brimstréam_ ”, loudly and clearly so that Morgana can hear.

            A jet of water emerges from his hand, falling perfectly into the tub. Merlin hears twin gasps from Morgana and Gwen and smiles a little to himself.

            Strange, how someone they know so well doing very simple magic can be more surprising and impressive than other people doing complex magic.

            When the tub is full, Merlin says “ _Onhǽte ϸá wæter,_ ” causing the water’s temperature to rise just a little. He makes sure to concentrate, because the last thing he needs is to accidentally give Morgana boiling hot bath water.

            When he turns back to Morgana, she’s rapt with attention. “What was the second spell for?”

            “Heating the water,” Merlin says. “There’s probably a way to just conjure already heated water, but, like I said, I don’t know many spells.”

            “Well, we shall have to study spells together, then,” Morgana says solemnly. “Thank you, Merlin, I really appreciate it.”

            Merlin knows a dismissal when he hears one. He bids goodbye to Morgana and Gwen and leaves the room as quietly as possible, hoping that a bath and Gwen can improve Morgana’s mood.

            He can’t seem to concentrate on them, though, not when he’s headed back to Arthur.

***

            As soon as Merlin leaves, Gwen goes over to the bed to help Morgana over to the tub, knowing that her legs are probably not up to getting there on their own yet. Once she gets Morgana there, though, she backs off, deliberately turning her back on the tub while stripping the linens off the bed, for lack of a better thing to do.

She hears Morgana slide into the tub with a sigh, and only then does she turn around, because the walls of the tub are high enough to cover Morgana’s naked body.

            As Morgana soaks away the grime of over a year of captivity, Gwen picks up her torn and soiled dress and asks “Would you like any of your bathing supplies from your old room?”

            Morgana hums to herself a little, her ragged hair looking almost normal now that it’s wet. “I don’t think so. What’s the use of putting fancy scent on, anyway?” she pauses for a second. “My old room hasn’t been…repurposed?”

            Gwen shakes her head. “Uther…he didn’t seem to want to believe you were gone for good. Kept your room the same, just in case you decided to come back.”

            Gwen can see Morgana getting emotional, her lower lip quivering slightly and her eyebrows drawing inward and, much like the first time Gwen had told Morgana something about Uther, she knows that she needs to leave Morgana alone.

            “I’m just going to run these down to the laundry,” Gwen says, holding the linens in her arms a bit higher. “I won’t be a moment.”

            She waits for Morgana’s nod, and then she’s out the door, quickly as her legs can carry her.

            When she’s about a half a corridor away, she leans her back against the wall and slides down into a sitting position. Ever since Morgana had gotten in the bath, there’d been a kernel of arousal, deep in Gwen’s stomach. She’d had that reaction before, of course, in the old days when she was doomed to love Morgana from afar, but it just seems…wrong, now, with Morgana in the state she’s in.

            Another thing that’s bothering her, has been since she had witnessed Arthur and Merlin, all tousled and glowing, earlier, is that she actually has no idea what the logistics of being with a member of the same sex are. It’s not something that gets talked about much, in polite society, and Gwen had never been the type to make friends with those of her own station who might talk of those sorts of things.

            Logically, she knows it’s possible, both for two men and two women, but she just cannot see how sex can happen if all the appropriate…parts are not there.

            As Gwen stands back up, she grimaces slightly, because, somehow, the distance from Morgana and the cold stone floor of the passageway have not decreased the throbbing sensation in her groin; rather, it has only increased, and Gwen can’t see it going away anytime soon.

            She wants to sneak away, touch herself in that way that is _also_ forbidden in polite society, but feels too good to avoid. She can’t, though, because Morgana is expecting her back, and she refuses to leave her lady alone.

            By this time, Gwen’s feet have carried her down to the laundry, and she deposits her armload into the arms of one of the laundresses, who’s looking at her suspiciously. Gwen thanks her, grabs some clean linens, and moves away quickly, because it’s clear that what Æbbe had overheard has already spread throughout the castle’s servant population.

            She hurries back up to Morgana, because she’s taken enough time already, stopping only to pick up some fresh clothes from Morgana’s old room. When she knocks on the door, though, she doesn’t get a reply, and, worried that something horrible has happened in the short time she’s been away, she yanks the door open and slips inside.

            Morgana’s head emerges from the water just as Gwen walks in, and Gwen immediately relaxes. She’s about to call out a greeting when she realises that Morgana is not stopping at lifting her head out of the water. Instead, she stands up fully, her back to the door, and Gwen is presented with a full view of the back of her body.

            It’s simultaneously the most heartbreaking and beautiful thing Gwen’s ever seen. Morgana looks even smaller and more fragile than she had clothed, and Gwen can see, for the first time, the bruises on her sharp hips in clear detail. On the other hand, there’s never going to be a time when Gwen doesn’t find Morgana lovely, and the curve of her back is practically making Gwen salivate.

            Feeling uncomfortable about the situation, Gwen clears her throat, causing Morgana to whip her head around, eyes panicked. She blushes a deep red when she sees Gwen there, and almost immediately sits down, covering herself up again with the water.

            “I’m sorry,” Gwen says. “You didn’t answer when I knocked on the door. I was worried.”

            “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Morgana says.

            “Like what?”

            “Ugly. Broken.”

            “It’s a good thing I didn’t see either of those things then, isn’t it?” Gwen says firmly, grabbing a towel and offering it to Morgana.

            Morgana hesitates for just a moment, then climbs out of the bath entirely. Gwen makes sure to hold the towel in a way that means Morgana’s body is shielded from her eyes, and she makes sure to keep them averted until Morgana is fully wrapped in the towel, standing in front of Gwen unsurely and dripping water onto the floor.

            “You’re too kind to me,” Morgana says.

            “There’s no such thing. Come here,” Gwen gestures to one of the chairs at Arthur’s table. “I’m going to fix your hair.”

            Morgana sits down, towel still wrapped around her like a security blanket, and Gwen can’t resist running her fingers through Morgana’s now-clean hair, letting the familiar texture of it soothe her. Morgana sighs slightly and tips her head back into the touch, exposing her neck in a touching display of trust.

            Gwen pulls out the small pair of scissors she keeps tucked into the sewing pouch inside her dress and gets to work, cutting off the ragged ends of Morgana’s hair and neatening it up to the length of the place where Morgause chopped it shortest. It ends up being about the length of Morgana’s chin, which is odd, as Morgana has had long hair since Gwen has known her. It looks good, though, curling slightly around Morgana’s jaw, and just this, the simplest little fix, makes her look stronger, less damaged, makes her eyes light up a little.

            After Gwen’s fully done, Morgana goes over to the mirror to look at her new haircut. Though Gwen probably should be cleaning up the dark hair that’s now littering the floor, she can’t help but watch Morgana as she runs her hair through the new short style, tips her head forward just to feel the ends sweep past her chin, shakes it out a little.

            “I like it,” Morgana announces, turning back towards Gwen. “Seems like it won’t get in the way as much, now.”

            Gwen smiles. “I brought you a clean nightdress,” she says, holding it up. As Morgana drops the towel to change, Gwen finally gets around to sweeping the hair off the floor, and puts the new linens on the bed, for good measure.

            When she turns back around, Morgana’s giving her a soft, sleepy smile, the nightdress enormous on her small body. She looks young, and vulnerable, and so, so sweet that Gwen can’t help but go over and wrap her in a hug.

            “Stay here tonight?” Morgana asks from where her head is pressed into Gwen’s shoulder.

            Gwen wouldn’t have been able to say no even if she wanted to. “Of course.”

            The two of them head to bed, curling up together under the heavy blankets. Morgana presses a quick kiss to Gwen’s lips, then burrows her head back into Gwen’s shoulder.

            Gwen begins to run her fingers through Morgana’s hair, humming a soft little tune, and the two of them stay there like that, entwined, until the both of them fall asleep.

***

            When Arthur wakes up, he reluctantly disentangles himself from where Merlin is still snoring on his chest (he really does need to get a new manservant), and goes over to his table, intent on editing his speech.

            He’s called a meeting of his advisors at midday, but he knows that his advisors won’t be the only ones who hear what he has to say. The castle’s servants, above all else, are good at two things: listening, unnoticed, to other peoples’ conversations, and gossip. He won’t be surprised if all of Camelot knows about the new laws before he’s even finished with the meeting.

            When he’s finally happy with the speech, he looks up and is shocked to find that Merlin’s awake, sitting up on his bed and looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Arthur tries to hide his surprise and simply asks “How long have you been up?”

            “About half an hour,” Merlin replies. “Seemed like you were making some good progress. That’s so rare that I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

            Arthur’s slept with people before who have seemed to change their entire attitude towards him afterwards. He’s relieved to find that Merlin’s not one of those people. “I’ll have you know,” he says haughtily, “That I’m finished with the editing, and the speech is _wonderful_.”

            “I’ve no doubt,” Merlin says with a cheeky smile. “Think you could get someone to bring us breakfast? I’m starved.”

            “That’s still your job for a few more hours, you know,” Arthur says.

            “But if I went to fetch it, I would have to put clothes on,” Merlin says. “Nobody wants that.”

            Arthur has to concede the point. “One of the maids will bring it up soon,” he says. “They always do when you slack at your job.”

            Merlin sits up a little straighter, brow furrowing. “Wait, so all those times you complained that you didn’t get breakfast because I’d slept in, someone else brought it to you?” he asks incredulously.

            Arthur just smirks.

            “You prat,” Merlin flops back down on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t envy your new servant, that’s for sure.”

            Arthur lets out a light chuckle and abandons his finished speech on the table, crawling back onto the bed to shut Merlin up with his mouth.

            They’re interrupted after a few minutes of lazy kissing by a knock on the door, heralding the arrival of the food.

            Arthur goes to open the door, and is surprised to be met, for the second time in twelve hours, by Guinevere, though she looks a lot angrier than she had last night, and she’s holding a breakfast tray.

            “You could have told the kitchens that you were temporarily moving rooms, you know,” Gwen says, pushing past Arthur to drop the tray on the table. “Hello, Merlin.”

            Arthur flushes slightly. He may have forgotten the fact that only three people in the castle knew he wasn’t staying in his room. “I’m sorry,” he says.

            Gwen has never been good at holding onto anger, and her face drops into its customary smile at the apology. “It’s alright,” she says. “I’m just a little frustrated because all the servants know that I turned down your proposal yesterday, and now they’ll all think that I stayed in your bed last night anyway.”

            Damn castle gossip. “I’ll make sure to clear that up at the meeting today,” he decides. “How’s Morgana? Did you tell her about the repeal?”

            “She’s fine. Seemed a little odd when I told her, though. I guess she wasn’t expecting it to happen this quickly,” her pretty face is marred with a frown for a moment, before it clears up. “Anyway, I should get back to her, and the both of you,” she looks pointedly between Arthur and Merlin, “should really get ready for the meeting. It’s half ten already.”

            With that, she sweeps out of the room, and Arthur is left to swear under his breath while Merlin jumps out of bed and pulls his breeches on, hopping ridiculously when one of his feet gets stuck.

            “You’ll want me to be at the meeting, then?” Merlin says. “Should I wear my ordinary clothes, or do you want me in a robe or something.”

            Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Much as he wants to repeal the magic ban and get on with building his own kingdom, separate from that of his father, he has the feeling that today’s going to be a headache.

***

            Morgana’s legs are still a little weak, but she doesn’t let that stop her from walking down the stone corridor towards the room where Arthur is giving his speech. She moves slowly and deliberately, holding the hem of the gown a few inches above the floor. She had been forced to cinch it at the waist in order for it to fit, and her new short hair is a little messy because she doesn’t quite know how to take care of it yet, but she feels better than she has in years.

            When Gwen had told her that morning about how Arthur was going to end the magic ban today, she had been taken aback, but pleased, because there had been a large part of her that hadn’t taken Arthur’s resolve seriously. However, after Gwen had left with a hurried apology to go and help the other servants prepare for the speech, Morgana had started to have serious thoughts.

            She’s weak, yes, and it will be difficult for the people of Camelot, who have grown to hate her, to accept that she’s not to blame for the death and destruction that her clone had caused, but it still rankles a little bit that Gwen didn’t even think that she might want to be present for the meeting. After all, it is _because_ of her that this is happening.

            The fact that all the castle’s servants are listening outside the door of the meeting room means that Morgana can move through the halls unmolested. She’s glad of that fact, because being stabbed by a guard before her name can be cleared would be awful.

            She reaches the end of the hallway that leads to the meeting room, where the servants are clustered around the door, jostling for position while trying to stay silent. She can hear Arthur’s voice, loud and confident and kingly, explaining to the nobles and advisors why he has decided to repeal the ban, how Merlin’s magic can help them and prevent the attacks by disgruntled sorcerers. She can picture the scene inside perfectly: Arthur, standing tall and proud, Merlin by his side squirming under the unaccustomed attention.

            Gwen, in the background, head bowed deferentially while still beaming with pride, ignoring the jealous glances of the other servants.

            Morgana should be there. Morgana will be there.

            Her captivity hasn’t decreased her flare for the dramatic, though, so she waits until she hears her name, waits until Arthur begins explaining the situation, before she starts making her way down the hallway.

            The servants notice her and start buzzing, their earlier efforts to be silent forgotten in light of this new development. They part easily when Morgana walks by them, from fear or a leftover deference, she’s not sure.

            When she opens the door, the whole hall goes silent. It looks just as she imagined, and she smiles to herself as she sweeps inside, keeping her head held high as she goes to occupy the position on Arthur’s left, mirroring where Merlin’s standing at his right.

            Arthur, though he’s clearly shocked by her appearance, recovers quickly. “Gentlemen, we have been duped by an evil sorceress for the last year. As you can see by the lady Morgana’s appearance, she is not the same woman that has been attacking Camelot. Any disrespect towards her will not be tolerated.”

            Morgana sees them staring at her, still darkly suspicious, and pulls up all the court training she had gotten over the years. She inclines her head to them. “Gentlemen.” Her voice comes out croaky and rusty, but confident, and for the first time since her rescue, Morgana really believes she can do this. She can go back to something like her old life, but better, and though she is not now, nor may she ever be, completely healed inside, she will be alright.

            There’s a pause, and then the nobles and advisors stand up almost as one, bowing deeply to Morgana. From the other side of Arthur, Merlin bows as well, and even Arthur gives her a deferential nod.

            Morgana doesn’t care as much as she otherwise would, though, because her eyes seek out Gwen, the way they always have. Though Gwen’s dropped into a curtsey, her eyes are not to the ground like everyone else’s: instead, she’s looking straight and Morgana, smiling and lovely and so damn _proud_ that Morgana can feel it in her bones.

            Morgana returns the smile, and, as she acknowledges her subjects with another tilt of her head, the sharp expression fit for a royal lady making its way back onto her face like it had never left, she feels like she’s finally come home.


End file.
